


And You Were Worried About Rodents?

by Hijja



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Gen Fic, Memories, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-09
Updated: 2011-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:58:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hijja/pseuds/Hijja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the autumn after Voldemort's return, Arthur Weasley is targeted by a Death Eater who wants to destroy the Boy Who Lived - and revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Rats!"

**Author's Note:**

> Hugs, thanks and blood-flavoured lollipops to Chthonia, for being the best beta imaginable.

This is our punishment. We came  
Here without blame, yet with blame,  
Dark blame of others, but our blame also.  
This stroke was bound to fall,  
Though not to fall so.

(Edwin Muir, _The Refugees_ )  


"Watch out!" Arthur Weasley yelled as the tiny, grey, snarling something sped past him and landed on a flabbergasted Perkins' shoulder. It proceeded to sink tiny plastic claws into his robes and equally tiny, pointy plastic teeth into the hapless wizard's ear.

Arthur swore under his breath. He couldn't really hurl a spell at the infernal pseudo-rodent, not without cursing Perkins' head off. This was an insight that came with experience. Not everybody on his little team was big on experience, though, he realised when Higgs came crashing into the dining room behind him with a battle cry, brandishing his wand at Perkins' shoulder. A cry which ended in a strangled " _Stupef_ -agh!-gargle!" when Arthur grabbed the youth by the scruff of his robes and shoved his wand away.

"Don't! You'll hit him too," he hissed, ignoring the angry glare that came his way. Higgs huffed, straightened his robes and blushed ever so slightly at the reprimand. Arthur turned away from the ex-Slytherin who was nursing his wounded ego.

" _Accio mouse_!" The furry critter was forcibly detached from Perkins' neck and hurled towards Arthur's outstretched hand, jaws determinedly curled around the tiny piece of skin it had liberated. Perkins howled in pain. As soon as he felt fur touching his palm, Arthur smashed the thing to the floor with slightly excessive - but satisfying - force. Drop beasty, aim wand...

" _Incendio!_ "

The would-be mouse burst into flames, gave a last outraged squeak and dissolved into grey ash.

"Got it!" he exclaimed triumphantly, only to echo Perkins' howl a second later when another set of diminutive teeth clamped down on his left ankle, just above the shoe. This time, however, Higgs had had got the hang of it. With Seeker's reflexes he dove at the second mouse and ripped it off Arthur's leg. The older wizard suppressed a moan and inwardly apologised to Perkins for having treated him in the same manner. The tiny bugger's bite hurt! Through watering eyes he watched Higgs crush the furry under the heel of his custom-made dragon hide boot.

He took a deep breath and pushed the pain away.

"That was the last one. Two mice, plus that infernal scratch post we froze in the living room. What a bloody mess!"

"This is sick," Higgs complained, hopping on one leg while trying to remove now unanimated fur and stuffing from the sole of his boot. "Who'd be mental enough to enchant a cat toy?"

"Just work this job for a while, and you'll believe anything," Arthur replied absent-mindedly and went over to support Perkins, who was still clutching his bleeding neck and swaying slightly.

"Ah'm too old for this," the elderly wizard wheezed. "An' to think that I postponed retirement for that..."

"Let me have a look. Hm, not good. We'll drop you off at the bureau's infirmary in a moment. Let's just memory charm the Muggles beforehand. Higgs," he called over his shoulder, "could you clean your shoes later and give me a hand with Perkins?"

They trooped out into the living room which had witnessed a spectacle of utter chaos this evening. The elaborate scratch post was still frozen in menacing silence, belying the horror it had unleashed on the terrified cats of the unsuspecting Muggle family that had had the misfortune to acquire it - second-hand, of course. Every feline's dream turned into a nightmare...

"Terrible t'see what the wizarding world's coming to," Perkins growled at the contraption. "Bet it was some nutty ol' witch wi' too many cats an' too little brain like that old bint Figg who could'na bear Muggles having 'er little darlin's treasure."

Arthur shook his head and took out a little bag the size of an uninflated rubber balloon and prodded it with his wand. As soon as it had enlarged into a big enough sack to hold the post, he stuffed it in.

"I don't think so, Perkins. A cat lover wouldn't put such a fright on even a Muggle's cat." Of this he was quite sure, having watched Ginny cast curses of almost Dark Wizard level on any of her brothers who dared to point a wand at one of the countless kittens she'd adopted over the years. "Simple Muggle-harassment, again - too silly to be dark magic, and too dangerous to be a prank. Maybe the DIE will be able to trace the origins of the thing."

"Huh?" Higgs arranged his forehead into questioning wrinkles.

"The 'Department of Illegal Enchantments', boy," Perkins explained, cackling. Catching the office's newest recruit clueless seemed to cheer the old wizard up quite a bit.

Higgs scowled.

Arthur sighed and turned to the Stupefied Muggle couple that they had arranged in the living room armchairs. When the team had Apparated in, the two Muggles had already been in a state of blind hysteria, not to mention scratched and bruised from flying (and scurrying) cat toys and a snapping scratch post. Seeing three weird-looking strangers popping out of thin air in front of them hadn't exactly calmed their frazzled minds, and Higgs - impatient and ruthless Slytherin that he was - had cut off their screeching in an instant with a Stunning Spell. He'd have to have a talk with the boy soon, Arthur decided.

He raised his wand, concentrated and twice murmured " _Obliviate_!", before casting a light sleeping spell on the couple. They'd awaken in one or two hours, calmed and slightly relaxed, and of course oblivious to the bespelled-scratch-post incident. He was pretty sure, however, that the two Siamese that were currently shaking and twitching on the floor below the heavy living-room sideboard would never be the same again...

The trio re-Apparated in the cramped and dingy Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, sweaty, sooty and covered in scratches, with Higgs still pulling fur out from under his foot. Perkins immediately limped off to see the Department Nurse, with a tissue pressed against his neck like an ailing vampire victim.

Arthur dropped the bag on his desk.

"Good job there, Terence, thanks," he said to Higgs and decided to postpone his speech on Muggle rights to when he didn't hurt and their junior member had stopped obsessing about his footwear. It was late, after all.

Eyes still fixed on his boots, Higgs muttered, "You know, when I applied for a job filled with excitement and diversity, I thought about something like Magical Law Enforcement. Who did I piss off that I ended up here?"

Arthur flinched inwardly. It wasn't that he didn't like his job - it was varied and allowed him to be as close to the Muggle world as wizardly possible. Still, he was keenly aware that most members of the Ministry rated it only marginally above the Centaur Liaison Office. Higgs had hated it from the day he'd first set boots into their less-than-impressive refuge. For the young and ambitious Slytherin, fresh out of Hogwarts and certainly no admirer of the Muggle world, it was pretty much hell. Although Arthur wasn't particularly fond of the sullen young man, he could sympathise.

"Well, at least it's not boring," he joked, trying to lift Higgs' gloomy mood.

The younger wizard snorted disdainfully. After a glance at the clock - its single hand had strayed far into the red section marked 'overtime', he muttered something sounding suspiciously like "F***!", grabbed his cloak and hurried out of the door.

Alone, Arthur sighed deeply and pulled up his robes to cast a healing spell on his toy mouse bite, which stung quite badly. Too tired to Apparate again before leaving for home, he Flooed through the fireplace down to the DIE dungeon and dropped off his burden with a bored night guard engrossed in the Daily Prophet's Quidditch section. It was past nine already. He'd just write his report tomorrow.

 _Good thing I called Molly on the fireplace to tell her I'd be late when we got assigned the scratch post problem_ , he thought. _Maybe she's right and I should tell them 'No' occasionally when they try to load me with overtime projects. But then again, I *do* enjoy working. Even if the job bites from time to time..._

He threw his papers into his briefcase, shrunk it and slipped it into his robe pockets. Seconds later, he re-Apparated on a backroad surrounded by the fields that stretched behind Ottery St. Catchpole. It was quite dark already, and he shivered slightly. Inspired by the thought of dinner and the cosy fireplace of the Burrow's kitchen, he set a brisk pace down the road.

Maybe Charlie would be well enough for a game of wizard chess, or a chat. His second-born had returned from Moldavia Dragon Reservation a week ago with nasty burns on his leg and a stern admonition from his superiors not to show his face again before he had recovered completely. From Charlie's jumbled recollection of the event it emerged that he had pulled a young Romanian Longhorn out from a patch of bog it had been sinking into, and the bedraggled creature had retaliated by sneezing fire on him.

"Not the dragon's fault!" Charlie had insisted vehemently. "The poor thing was in panic." Now that his altruistic son was slightly better, he seemed to quite enjoy the enforced holiday, provided it didn't last too long.

Arthur panted a little when he reached the front porch. Considering that the Weasleys were known enemies of the Dark Side and young Harry Potter was a regular guest at the Burrow, the house and a square mile of surrounding ground had been turned into an Apparation-free zone ever since the return of You-Know-Who.

 _Perhaps I should take the broom to work once in a while_ , he mused. _I'd be in a better shape_.

"Open, Sesame," he commanded and put his hand on the door knob.

"Evening, Arthur," Sesame the Doorknob grumbled and twisted itself. The lock clicked open. Arthur stumbled into the dark corridor, yawning and still limping slightly.

"Hello Molly, Charlie," he called. There was a short silence, then Molly's voice came back, with a somehow strangled undertone.

"In the kitchen."

Arthur hung up his cloak, dropped his briefcase on the sideboard and made his way into the kitchen.

At least, he had intended to enter the kitchen. As it was, he froze in the doorframe, paralysed by the sight in front of his eyes that hit him with all the subtlety of a visual blow to the heart. For a second he just blinked, trying to force the tranquil family scene he had been expecting over the nightmare his eyes tried to sell him. Without success.

Molly and Charlie were sitting in two of the high-backed kitchen chairs, upright and looking terrified. Behind them, two black-cloaked, masked figures loomed, each pointing a wand at the unprotected backs of their victims' heads. A third figure had been standing with carelessly folded arms behind the table, and was now stepping forward to deliver his greeting.

"Good evening, Arthur. You're late. We've been waiting for quite some time."


	2. "Rats!"

"Good evening, Arthur. You're late. We've been waiting for quite some time."

An invisible hand of ice seemed to close around Arthur's spine. _This can't happen to us,_ he thought desperately. _Not after all this time. Not again!_

"What-" That couldn't be his voice, it sounded more the like the croaking of a very sick crow. He cleared his throat. "What do you want?" More comprehensible this time.

He felt the smile of the Death Eater as surely as if it were radiating through the white mask.

"Why, Arthur, we want you of course. We have great plans for you. You've even made it easy on us. A cheap enchanted door knob and some Apparation Wards begged off Dumbledore won't stop anything more determined than a straying Muggle."

"You have to be mental to think I'd help you with anything!"

The leading Death Eater took a step closer to the outraged red-haired wizard. His arrogant posture showed quite clearly how much he enjoyed having the upper hand.

"I don't think it will be altogether hard to convince you. Unless you're not at all attached to your consort and offspring, that is."

Fury and despair warred inside him as he stared at the Death Eaters' prisoners. Molly looked shocked and terrified, but Arthur knew her well enough to understand that she was more afraid for Charlie and him than for herself. His son had slumped back slightly on his chair, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He was still weak from his half-healed injuries, and You-Know-Who's supporters were unlikely to have handled him very gently. Then he realised what was missing and a sudden stab of fear went through him.

"Where's Percy?" he asked Molly, tuning out the Death Eaters with some effort of willpower.

"Not home yet," she replied in a shaky voice. "He said he'd work a late night at the office."

Arthur took a deep breath. Percy had been offered the chance to represent the Department of Magical Travel in a lawsuit brought by Ali Bashir's Air Carpet Company, who wanted the Ministry to lift its ban against flying carpets in Britain. True to his nature, Percy had jumped as enthusiastically at the chance as if he were an angry mother dragon defending her eggs instead of a minor official trying to keep airborne weavery out of the British Isles. He hadn't been home before ten the last two weeks, and then only because the Ministry caretakers had threatened to hex him out of the office. Despair was suddenly replaced with resolution: he had to get rid of the dark wizards before Percy came home, no matter how.

"I'd suggest you pay more attention to whom you're dealing with, Arthur," the Death Eater's voice cut through his thoughts. "Now, for a start, you will hand me your wand." He held his hand out commandingly.

Arthur's hand closed over the smooth wood protectively. Without it he would be utterly defenceless - unable to protect either himself or Molly and Charlie. Not that he'd stand much of a chance duelling three Death Eaters single-handedly, but without a wand...

"Let me help speed up your decision-making process a bit," the masked man hissed maliciously, then gestured towards his cronies. The Death Eater behind Charlie moved his wand away from his neck and pointed it at the young man's bandaged thigh.

" _Incendio!_ " he growled, and the tip of the wand began to glow with an ugly, cherry-red light.

Arthur watched Charlie shrink back against the back of the chair helplessly. The glowing wand made contact with the still-healing burn and his second-born threw his head back in agony, letting out a strangled scream that was even more terrible because he tried so hard to suppress it and failed. Tears sprang to his eyes and he convulsed violently.

Molly cried out and started up from her chair, heedless of the danger.

" _Petrificus Totalus_!" The head Death Eater's spell hit her in mid-stride, and her unmoveable body collapsed back into the chair. Only her eyes were alive, filled with rage, pain and concern.

Arthur ripped his wand out of his robe pocket and practically forced it into the other's hand.

"Here! Now let him go, you monstrous bastard!" Probably not the wisest comment in his situation, but Arthur was quite beyond rational reflection. The Death Eater, however, just twirled the wand in his hand before fastidiously pocketing it.

"Heavens, Arthur, what language! But then again, you're not exactly a wizard of breeding, are you? Enough for now," he told his associate, who removed the wand from Charlie's leg. The young dragon keeper slumped back, unconscious.

"Now that I have your undivided attention, let me explain to you, in appropriately simple terms, what your options are. You will accompany us, without fuss or resistance. In return, we'll put memory charms on your wife and son and leave it at that. If you refuse, you will watch us torture them, kill them and then you'll accompany us."

Arthur blinked, trying to clear his head. There was something very wrong with this proposal. _Damn it, Arthur, you can panic later, now think!_

"Why should I believe you? You revel in killing, it's what you live for. What will stop you from murdering them once you have me?"

"Because, as you force me to repeat, we need you for something. And it would be preferable if the wizarding world - and sadly enough that includes your lot - were ignorant of your disappearance for the moment."

"You need me for what?"

"You'll see. Now, this is getting tiresome and I have a dinner engagement later tonight that I cannot afford to miss." His tone lost all the casualness it had had before and turned distinctively icy. "And as much as I look forward to our little plan, the idea of looking down on your broken and mutilated body is becoming increasingly appealing as well. Make up your mind, now!"

Underneath the anger in his tone, Arthur could sense a much stronger, darker undercurrent. He met the eyes behind the mask directly for the first time and knew with absolute certainty the wizard they belonged to. In fact, had he not been frozen with shock he'd have known from the moment he'd stepped into the room. Somewhere deep inside his subconscious mind, he'd always known that this had to happen. Unfortunately, his mind had opted to put a lot of emphasis on the 'sub' in subconscious before now.

 _Fool, fool, fool!_ he berated himself. _You're as ignorant as Fudge! After the World Cup, after all Dumbledore and Harry told you about what happened during the Triwizard Tournament - and you still didn't see this coming!_

He was very careful to keep the realisation from showing on his face. Better not even think the name - the other was a powerful wizard and there was no guarantee he wasn't using a mind-reading charm or some similar Dark Arts spell. You-Know-Who's supporters might spare Molly and Charlie if it suited their schemes, but memory charms could be detected and broken. Being able to tell the Aurors that they had been attacked by Death Eaters was one thing, actually giving names was quite another.

"Well, I don't have much of a choice, do I," he said coldly. "If you leave without harming anyone, I'm all yours."

"As it should be." The Death Eater picked up the box of new plugs Arthur had bought - with Muggle money and no little apprehension - in Ottery St.Catchpole's hardware shop, and sifted through it gingerly. He took one out and dangled it between thumb and index finger with all the appreciation he'd show a dead and halfway decomposed rat. "Appropriate for a Muggle lover," he decided, and began the familiar enchantment that would transfigure the small Muggle artefact into a Portkey.

Helplessly, Arthur watched the Death Eater who had tortured Charlie revive his son with an "Ennervate!" spell, only to put him under again with the memory charm as soon as he opened his eyes. Charlie's gaze slid out of focus, and his head fell back as he fell into a half trance, his face still screwed up in pain.

" _Finite Incantatem!_ " Molly regained use of her limbs, but didn't grace the second Death Eater who had freed her with so much as a fleeting glance. Instead, her eyes locked on Arthur's face with single-minded determination.

"We'll find you," she said, calmly and without the tiniest hint of doubt clouding her voice.

"I know," Arthur replied, a small devil-may-care smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She might, as well. His wife was a witch with an uncanny amount of intuition, a gift that had sailed her smoothly through Divination at Hogwarts without having to bother about technique, and given her a degree of perception that had driven their children to distraction, particularly the secretive twins. And, of course, she was the most resolute person he'd ever met. He was tempted to say 'It's going to be all right', but it would have been an insult to her intelligence.

"I wouldn't bother with the optimism, woman," the head Death Eater sneered. "You'll forget it in a second, anyway." He pointed his wand at her and snarled, " _Obliviate!_ " Molly's eyes closed like Charlie's had before, and her face went slack.

The Death Eater held up the enchanted plug between middle and index finger and nodded at Arthur.

"Catch, Weasley." He tossed the plug to him and Arthur reflexively closed his hand around it. His stomach lurched sideways and he stumbled as the Portkey took effect. _Please, let them be all right,_ he thought before the iridescent vortex snatched him up and spirited him away.


	3. "Plans, Polymorphing and Prisoners"

He awoke with a feeling as if he were lying an inch away from his body and observing it with an extremely critical eye. His head didn't exactly hurt, but it seemed about three times its normal size and stuffed with cotton. Black, red and green swirls danced before his eyes, occasionally interspersed with bright white lightning. And he hadn't even lifted his lids yet. There was an acidly sweet taste in his mouth - potion? It would explain why he felt more like after one of their infamous throw-illegal-potion-ingredients-into-the-punch-bowl Gryffindor parties than after using a Portkey, no matter how badly calibrated.

For a couple of minutes he just focused on breathing. It helped - his mind snuggled a little closer to his body and hovered just outside his skin. Moving was still out of the question, but his senses perked up one after the other. It was warm - pretty hot, to be precise. Dark, in a suffocating way. Well, maybe that had to do with the closed eyes. A strange smell hung in the air, as if a combination of different mixtures was bubbling over a fire. A potions lab? Yes, Arthur, you're definitely getting closer. Voices spoke quietly in the background, just out of earshot. One strange, and alien. One - not.

Concentrating sent a sharp stab through his temples right down into the roots of his teeth. His mind's voice began to protest furiously at the strain. Let it go for the moment, Arthur, you're only going to make yourself sick. And while you may be able to face a bunch of Death Eaters intent on torturing you to death, you definitely can't let yourself be sick in front of... ok, face, it, you spine- and literally mindless Flobberworm, Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy. Who has a plan. Oh, beautiful!

It took a couple of minutes before he was able to eavesdrop again.

"... potion is ready."

"Let's wake our guest." Closer, this time.

"Oh, he's been awake for quite a bit." The weird voice again. " _Ennervate!_ "

A sudden shock shoved his mind back into his body and he was able to move again. Well, slowly, anyway. Carefully, so as not to upset his stomach, he sat up and turned around to face his captors. And jumped. Violently.

One face was familiar; pale hair and eyes over a dark robe, no physical mask on his face this time, only a clear, though guarded, mixture of hatred and satisfaction. The other... well, there was a significant difference between _knowing_ and _seeing_ something really evil had occurred, Arthur realised. Dumbledore had spoken about it gravely, Harry with a mixture of pain and horror, but only at this moment Arthur understood the full implications of the phrase 'You-Know-Who has returned'.

He stumbled to his feet, shivering badly. The thin, tall frame, the snakish face with domineering red eyes was terrifying in itself, but the air of icy darkness that surrounded him was worst. A tiny voice in the back of his head complained bitterly at the unfairness of it all. What had he done to deserve this monster crossing his path? Although, he suspected, poor Bertha Jorkins and Bartemius Crouch had asked the same, the former at least with better reason than himself.

Lucius Malfoy's face peered over the shoulder of his Lord, eyes glittering with amused malice. Behind them, a small cauldron was bubbling over a fire and emitting brightly coloured puffs of smoke every once in a while.

"Close your mouth, Weasley, it's an unbecoming sight."

The scorn actually helped him get a grip on reality. He took a ragged breath and gave Malfoy the tiniest of cool nods. He was strangely grateful for his presence - without it, he'd probably have broken down in hysterics.

"You seem surprised to see me, Mr... Weasley, is it?" The voice didn't fit. It was too high for a being of such... presence. It sounded as if a snake had acquired human speech - just wrong! The Dark Lord seemed unaware of Arthur's inability to speak. "Please, sit. You don't look well." Arthur was too shaken to react to the cruelly mocking politeness. Instead, he slumped back onto the cot.

"I think introductions are in order," Malfoy drawled. "Arthur, you have the honour of meeting the Dark Lord, for the first time, I believe. My lord, this is Arthur Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, the instigator of the so-called 'Muggle Protection Act'."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut in despair. Thanks beyond measure, Malfoy, you twisted bastard! If he wasn't ready to blast me to bits before, he definitely is now!

Voldemort hissed contemptuously, cruel red eyes burning into Arthur's.

"I doubt that the most dangerous species in this world needs additional 'protection', Mr. Weasley," he hissed. "Muggles have condemned us to an eternity in hiding, and have left out no opportunity for destroying wizards in their hatred for everything that is more... gifted than they are. These creatures are mad to self-destruction, and care nothing about all the other species they will drag to their doom with them. They don't need protection - they need to be incapacitated to guarantee the safety and freedom of our world. People like you stand in the way of the magical community's very survival."

Indignation and self-preservation fought a short but vicious battle for dominance in Arthur's head. _You can't contradict him, he's going to kill you_ , self-preservation howled desperately before being squashed by Arthur's inner Gryffindor.

"There is some truth to that," he conceded. His inner Gryffindor was courageous, not dead stupid. "And yet, I have seen members of the magical community slaughter helpless Muggles - and their own - with the very same cruelty and callousness you're denouncing." Your people. He didn't voice that bit, but it stood clearly in the room.

"You're a brave wizard, Mr. Weasley," the Dark Lord acknowledged with a hideous smile. "I would show you the errors of your ways myself, but Lucius here has asked me to be allowed to take care of that, and he has earned a reward for his ingenious plan."

He turned away and glided over to the potion cauldron. Obviously satisfied with its contents, he picked two bulbous glass vials from a shelf and ladled a generous portion of potion into one. He held the container up against the light, where it still exuded colourful smike. He returned to Arthur and pointed his wand at him.

" _Imperio!_ "

The curse took effect instantaneously. Comforting warmth began to spread through his body, and caressed his spine. Surge after surge of calmness drowned the terror in his mind like warm, mild waves lapping over a sunny beach. He tried to fight against the feeling, but the willpower to do so slipped through his fingers like water through a sieve. It wasn't so bad anyway, so why worry?

"Lucius, would you hand Mr. Weasley your dagger?"

"Of course." Malfoy grinned viciously and produced a silver ritual knife, which he pressed into Arthur's hand. Arthur took it gratefully. The Dark Lord handed him the empty vial and smiled benevolently.

"We need some blood from you, Mr. Weasley. Would you be so kind as to procure it?"

Arthur nodded in peaceful relaxation and wondered why the little voice in his head made such a fuss about it. They were good people, and he wanted to help them. And yet, a vague sense of dread remained as the blade cut into the crook of his left arm. A steady trickle of blood ran down his elbow. He put the vial to the cut and happily watched it slowly filling with red fluid. When it was full, he handed it back to the Dark Lord. The hideous figure measured thirteen drops of blood into the potion, watched it turn a pale red colour that much resembled Arthur's hair, and put the vial back on the rack to cool with an approving nod.

" _Finite Incantatem!_ "

The comforting calm receded and left only cold in its wake. Arthur shivered violently and clutched his wounded arm. He didn't react as Lucius came up to him and took the knife out of his hand. He used it to cut off the torn, bloody sleeve of Arthur's robe, which he then folded and put into a small carved wooden box, together with, Arthur noted uncomprehendingly, the plug Portkey that had brought him here. He was thrown into even greater confusion when the pale Death Eater picked up a magical camera from the table and proceeded to take his picture.

"Don't smile," he sneered, "it would spoil the effect."

The camera - tiny and surprisingly Muggle in design - hissed and sputtered before emitting the photograph. Photo Arthur glared angrily at real-world Arthur. Malfoy smirked at both and added the picture to the contents of the box, which he then proceeded to close.

"What are you planning to do with that?" Arthur asked, deeply suspicious. The other looked far to smug for his liking.

"Well," Malfoy rattled the box, "we're going to owl this to Hogwarts, addressed to your son, Ronald." He grinned in vile anticipation. "He's a Fifth Year, so I guess by now he will have learned how to perform an Originatus spell." Originatus, Arthur recalled, was performed to identify the owner of human residues or frequently used items.

"Among the Muggles you're so fond of we'd have sent him a body part or two, but it would have been so... common." The Dark Lord turned his attention away from his potion.

"Well," Lucius threw in, "I was all for it, but was outvoted."

"It happens among Muggle _criminals_ ," Arthur snapped, quite fed up with constantly being given a hard time for not being a rabid anti-Muggle bigot. "And what do you want with Ron?"

"It's quite simple, Mr. Weasley." There was an unholy glint in the Dark Lord's eyes as he faced his victim. "We'll let young Mr. Weasley know that his beloved father is our prisoner, and that your life depends on him doing exactly as we tell him. I'm quite sure he will prove a dutiful son and comply with our wishes."

"What wishes?" Arthur could see where this was going, but insisted on confirmation anyway.

"He will give Harry Potter a potion we'll provide, and take him to a place of our choosing later this month. If he complies, he'll be told, we will free you."

Harry! They're after Harry, and trying to use Ron!

"Wouldn't it be more... respectable for a wizard of your power to focus on a less... juvenile target," he spat in a fit of fury.

The skeletal figure shot him a look that froze his blood, casually pointed his wand towards Arthur and hissed a spell under his breath. The effect was immediate. A burning pain seared across his left cheek like a thin and extremely sharp dagger laced with acid. The pain radiated throughout his skull and a small trickle of blood made its way down his cheek.

"You will not speak to me in such a tone again," the tall figure hissed, "unless you want to experience something very much worse than Imperius."

Arthur glared, but wisely fell silent.

 _It won't work anyway,_ he tried to calm his panic. _Even if they could convince Ron to go along with it - which I doubt - their plan is doomed as soon as the Ministry notices my disappearance. Fudge may be in denial about Voldemort's return, but after the Bertha Jorkins case the Ministry is more than paranoid._

The lipless mouth of the Dark Lord pulled itself into a hideous smile.

"And if you're hoping that the Ministry will treat your disappearance with more concern than that of the late Miss Jorkins," he said as if reading Arthur's mind, "we'll just have to make sure that you will _not_ disappear." He held up the vial of potion that contained Arthur's blood. "That, Mr. Weasley, is what we have brewed this potion for." The glittering fluid sparkled before Arthur's eyes like an ominous threat. Voldemort turned to Malfoy and announced, "It's time to fetch our other guest, I think."

The pale wizard nodded and disappeared through the door.

The Dark Lord focussed his attention back on Arthur. "Are you familiar with the effect of Polymorph Potion?"

Arthur shook his head - he'd never been very good at or interested in potions.

"It is a variant of Polyjuice Potion," Voldemort explained, "except that it uses a person's blood instead of hair or nails as the central ingredient. Therefore not only does it turn one person's _shape_ into another's, it also transfers some aspects of the donator's personality. Lucius told me that you're from a pureblood family, so you'd better hope, for the sake of your family, that your blood is strong enough to influence the recipient."

He was interrupted when Lucius Malfoy entered again, followed by a burly dark-haired wizard in a black hooded robe.

"Ah, how good of you to come," Voldemort greeted the new arrival cordially. The wizard dropped on his knees before him and kissed the hem of his robes with a devotion that reminded Arthur of a potion addict abasing himself before his brewer.

"Arthur," Lucius said, "meet Antonin Dolohov, one of our most devoted Death Eaters."

Arthur eyed the man sceptically. He hadn't been at Dolohov's trial, but knew for sure that - as one of Voldemort's most notorious followers - the Death Eater had been sent to Azkaban for life.

"Dolohov has been in Azkaban for over thirteen years," he stated flatly. "He was arrested shortly after the Dark Lord's... disappearance."

Lucius threw him a smug grin. Dolohov just glared, cold dark eyes burning in a lined face. He was still on his knees before the Dark Lord like an adoring, slightly overgrown puppy.

"Yes, well, it took some effort to have him here today," Lucius explained. "I'm not surprised that Fudge has kept a tight lid on his escape. Honestly, the man is so effective in doing our job that he could be a honorary Death Eater." Lucius smiled, condescending amusement laced with steel.

"Two days ago an old acquaintance, Igor Karkaroff, appeared at the Office for Magical Law Enforcement and confessed to the Auror on duty that thirteen years ago he had forced Antonin under the Imperius Curse to commit the acts he was afterwards sent to Azkaban for."

Dolohov gave a soft, contemptuous snort, as if he was resenting the fact that another claimed responsibility for crimes he was proud of. Malfoy looked down at him, and they shared a secretive, twisted smile.

"I'm pretty sure Fudge would have had hushed that up too," Malfoy continued, "if Karkaroff hadn't implied he'd owled the Russian Ministry of Magic about it beforehand. Well, the Ministry sent a Magical Law Enforcement team to fetch Dolohov out of Azkaban for a new hearing at the Ministry. They were... intercepted on their way back by a group of Death Eaters, who escaped with the prisoner."

"You killed them?"

"No," Malfoy shook his head, "but they were so thoroughly Confounded that I doubt they'll remember whether they escorted a wizard or a plucked turkey out of Azkaban." He grinned at Arthur's disbelieving gaze. "No, we haven't discovered the meaning of mercy. It is merely in our best interest to keep as low a profile as possible for the time being. We need inside information about Azkaban, not a full-blown mass hysteria."

"But... Karkaroff?" Arthur shook his head. "He may have been guilty as hell himself, but there is no way Dolohov was under the Imperius Curse." He glanced at the wizard in question, who gave a mocking, slightly mad and thoroughly unsettling smile in return.

"You're right, of course," Malfoy agreed. "Karkaroff was under the Curse when he went to the Ministry. Sadly enough, he chose to attack a Dementor while under arrest, and suffered the Kiss before the guards could interfere."

"You ordered him to do that? One of your own?"

"A traitor," the Dark Lord interjected coldly. "We do not suffer traitors to live."

"Now that Dolohov is free," Lucius continued, "this is where you come into the game, Arthur: I have pulled some strings at the Ministry to make sure that you, as an avowed enemy of the Dark Side-" he gave Arthur a very meaningful look, "- will be entrusted with the inquiry into of Dolohov's disappearance and his recapture. Of course, by then he will have taken your place with the help of the Polymorph Potion, and will be in the unique position to hide right in front of the Ministry's nose while throwing them off track in their pursuit. You have to admit it's... interesting."

Arthur shot back an equally cold look.

"It is indeed. But then I never said you were stupid, just evil."

Lucius gave a him a mocking bow, and the Dark Lord interrupted impatiently.

"Lucius, you can continue your conversation with Mr. Weasley after I'm gone. Now, Antonin, are you feeling up to your task?"

The dark-haired wizard rose from his knees and bowed deeply.

"My lord, I'm yours to command." His voice was raspy - as if he hadn't used it for a long time, except to scream. Although he was formally dressed, shaven, and his hair had been cut expertly, the mad gleam in his eyes reminded Arthur very much of the pictures he'd seen of Sirius Black. Utterly, irreparably damaged.

The Dark Lord handed him the potion glass and he swallowed it without a split second's hesitation, as if he was ingesting something sanctified by the touch of his master. It made Arthur quite sick, and not just because he had been told the sinister plan behind the potion.

The effect set in immediately. Dolohov let out a hoarse, strangled scream as his skin began to dissolve into a bubbling mass. He pressed both hands against his face, which had the sickening appearance of two shapeless pink sticks clinging to a lump of runny dough. It took a minute until the skin started to reshape itself. His hair receded quickly and changed colour to Arthur's vivid red, and it was as if Arthur's features swam to the surface of the previously flat and undistinguished face. Dolohov grew visibly and groaned as his bones and muscles were stretched and elongated. The Dark Lord and Malfoy watched expressionlessly, the former with a curious tilt of the snake-like head. At last the horrified whimpers that had accompanied the process subsided.

Dolohov removed his hands and Arthur gaped at his own face. It _was_ him, and yet, like in a very slightly cracked mirror, it wasn't. Something dark shone through the eyes that most definitely was not Arthur Weasley's, not even on a very bad day.

The transformed Death Eater snuck up and circled him like a crazy cat. He sniffed at the back of Arthur's neck in a very disturbing manner.

"Not really my type, you aren't," he hissed softly, "and your wife isn't too attractive either, they say. Pity..." Arthur whirled around, filled with hot fury, and swung at his double. He was still too groggy from the potion to deliver a satisfying punch, but the Russian Death Eater stumbled back a couple of steps.

" _Impedimenta!_ " The Dark Lord's spell sent Arthur reeling into the wall. It took him a couple of seconds to clear his head. When he managed, he glared up directly into Voldemort's terrifying visage.

"You are a fool indeed, Mr. Weasley, and soon enough you'll face the consequences of acting like a fool."

Arthur swallowed hard and fought a hard battle both against his fear and his pride. He won, but only just.

"Please... my lord." It was the hardest word he'd ever spoken.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" Voldemort smiled, in obviously pleased expectancy.

"Please leave my son and my family out of this."

"I'm afraid that is impossible. The next step in my return to power depends very much on your loved ones." He looked anything but sorry, however. He gave Arthur another cynical smile and added, "I suspect this will not exactly incline you to reconsider your attitude towards my side, correct?"

"Correct," Arthur replied resignedly. "I tend to judge a side's merit by their actions, not their words. Your... servant might have told you this."

"Is that so?" Voldemort glanced over his shoulder at Lucius, who had been observing their conversation closely, a calming hand on Dolohov's shoulder. Now, however, a pink tinge coloured his face and his expression was nothing less than deadly. The Dark Lord was visibly amused by his follower's reaction. "And are _you_ prepared to be judged by your actions, Mr. Weasley?"

Damn! How much exactly did he know? And yet there was only one answer to that question, bitter as the consequences might be.

"I am."

The Dark Lord hissed in what could only be described as sadistic amusement.

"Then I wish you an interesting time of it, Mr. Weasley, because it's unlikely that we will speak again."

 _Yes, because I won't be around no matter what Ron and Harry decide to do,_ Arthur thought bitterly. _I got the message well enough._

Voldemort raised his wand again to perform a partial Body-Bind. Arthur fell back on the cot, bumping his head against the wall in the process.

"I rely on your successful execution of the plan, Lucius," he heard the Dark Lord say. "If everything works out you'll have made up for a great deal of the neglect you've shown me over the last decade."

"Thank you, my lord," Lucius replied. "Ideally, Potter will be yours at Halloween, and we can tap into both the Ministry's and Dumbledore's secrets. Even if the young Weasley fails or Dolohov blows his cover or starts massacring the Weasleys, we'll have sown distrust between Potter and his friends and rid ourselves of a handful of enemies."

"Yes," Voldemort hissed. "And Lucius, please don't think I haven't noticed how neatly my interests coincide with your personal motives in this little scheme of yours. Remember that Mr. Weasley has to be alive for us to guarantee Dolohov's supply of Polymorph Potion."

"Don't worry, my lord." Lucius' voice dropped a couple of degrees. "Killing him quickly is the last thing I have in mind."

"Good."

Out of the corner of his eyes Arthur watched as Voldemort took the arm of Arthur Weasley the Death Eater and, with a final nod to Malfoy, Disapparated with him.

Lucius gave Arthur a long, hard look before sauntering over to him. With a slight wave of his wand he took off the Body-Bind. Arthur rubbed the back of his neck gingerly to soothe his cramped muscles.

"Alone at last," Lucius stated grimly, his normally pale eyes dark with anger like stormy grey clouds.

" _Crucio!_ "

Arthur's world exploded in a myriad of fiery and icy shards, invisible tiny daggers that burrowed beneath his skin and proceeded to sink with agonising accuracy right down into the marrow of his bones. He was vaguely aware that he was screaming and trashing convulsively, but the pain was just too fundamental to permit any semblance of control. It was like being drowned in a sea of fire. Finally, it proved too much for his weakened body, and he gratefully allowed unconsciousness to consume him.


	4. "Something from the Past Just Comes and Stares into Your Soul"

It took several attempts to drag himself out of nightmarish visions of fire and blood to a halfway conscious state. Well, at least he hoped it was conscious. He'd never experienced the Cruciatus Curse before, but knew it could damage the mind if it was put on somebody too long. He didn't know how long Malfoy had kept him under. Too long.

He was shivering, hot and cold at the same time. The inside of his mouth was raw from where he'd bitten down to counter the inhuman pain the curse brought. A a couple of nails had splintered when he had dug them into his palms, and his hands hurt awfully..

He couldn't see anything, but felt he was alone - for the moment. The darkness dunked him right back into the imaginary duck pond of his mind, to struggle with the memories that rose up, unbidden but uncontrollable. Perhaps because the past, ugly as it had been, was easier to deal with than the present. Or maybe it wasn't...

Malfoy...

The past...

~ ~ ~ 

Great enmities, according to the Golden Rule, always start at Hogwarts. Illustrious hatreds are sparked by house rivalries and individual dislikes. Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin. Sirius Black and Severus Snape. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

In contrast, it was perhaps symptomatic that Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley had basically ignored each other during their Hogwarts days. Arthur had been a quiet student, preferring the company of Ravenclaws to that of the Gryffindor firebrands - of which, to be honest, there hadn't been too many in his year. Their Slytherin yearmates, on the other hand, had by third year turned into the worst bunch Slytherin had seen in a couple of centuries, a force no student - and only the bravest of teachers - was foolish enough to cross. Their 'career' was lined with incidents - intimidation, duelling injuries, students transferring to Beauxbatons, the Salisbury Academy, even the disreputable Kyteler Institute of Sorcery just to get away - all culminating in the suicide of a fifth-year Ravenclaw. Nobody had ever pointed a finger at Malfoy's gang, but everybody... knew.

In hindsight they'd been ideal candidates for Death Eaterhood. Arthur had partnered Alan Lestrange in Professor Crux's inflammatory excuse for Muggle Studies, had ogled a bit at his beautiful girlfriend, and observed them enough to learn that their leader, the Prince of Snakes, was certainly no gentleman despite his aristocratic demeanour. But it was only after Arthur had joined the Ministry that he'd first crossed swords with Lucius Malfoy...

~ ~ ~ 

The Ministry conference room was hot and stuffy. Late afternoon August sun filtered through the high windows and threw geometric patterns on the large mahogany table. Arthur Weasley sweated, uncomfortably aware of the fact that his best robes also happened to be his winter wear. Half-heartedly, he listened to Mucius Cadwallader droning on about regulating Floo-network connections in Muggle areas.

"Why permit links into Muggle habitats at all?" a cool drawl interrupted. "If the Mudbloods chose to live apart from the Wizarding World, they can just as well bear the consequences."

He had stopped to reflect, Arthur might have held his peace. As it was, however, he was hot, uncomfortable, and had just gone through the worst month of the worst year of his life - a year that had cost him his mother, his family fortune and almost his father. He was in no mood to be patient.

"I think we should leave that kind of language to the Death Eaters," he snapped.

The other turned to face him and Arthur found himself the focus of those deadly grey eyes for the first time.

"Did you just call me a Death Eater?"

The drops of sweat on his back suddenly turned to icicles. _Damn, he's going to hex me in public - or even worse, challenge me to a Wizard's Duel._ He swallowed and clutched his wand.

"No," he replied calmly. "It's just bad enough that our enemies use such slurs - we shouldn't sink to the same level."

They glared at each other until a fist slammed down on the tabletop.

"That's enough!" The lined face of Luther Crockford, ageing head of the Department of Magical Transportation, shone with anger. "I'll not have junior members squabbling in my meeting. You're not at the Leaky Cauldron!"

Arthur looked down at his hands, feeling himself blush to his roots of his red hair - a thoroughly unhappy colour combination. He shot a covert glance at Malfoy, who seemed absolutely indifferent to the rebuff, although he sat on his chair a bit more stiffly than before.

As he was leaving the meeting, Arthur was stopped by a hand on his arm. He looked up at Augustus Rookwood, who eyed him sternly.

"Arthur, I know you're under a lot of pressure, but what were you thinking, antagonising Malfoy like that? He's one of the up-and-coming people in the Ministry - he could ruin your career before it starts. I didn't give you this chance so you could throw it away."

"I'm sorry, Augustus, honestly. But... it's bad enough that You-Knows-Who is terrorising Muggles and Wizards alike. We don't need that kind of contempt among ourselves." He paused for a second, before asking tentatively, "Do you know Malfoy? Could he be one of...?"

"No," Rookwood said firmly. "You know how some of the old Slytherin families are. I know Lucius, and I'm absolutely certain he's not involved with the Death Eaters." His voice softened slightly. "How's your father?"

Arthur snorted bitterly. "He blames himself for the loss of the house and the shop. Never got over mother's death, and then the trial. I'm worried about him. Not even baby Bill can cheer him up."

Rookwood sighed and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sometimes the Ministry seems no better than the Dark Lord. Yes, your father was flaunting the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy, but your mother was an old woman. Just because she wanted to die among the Muggle family she hadn't seen since she'd left for Hogwarts did not warrant your family being fined out of every gallon to save your father from Azkaban. But maybe," he gave Arthur's shoulder an encouraging pat, "some day we can help you regain what you lost. And until then," he added, more gravely, "be careful with your accusations. Crouch's department is on the warpath, and I don't think you'd wish what happened to your family on another, even if you don't like them."

Arthur sighed. "You're probably right. It's not like I have any proof..."

~ ~ ~ 

Proof, yes. It seemed that proof of things he'd never wanted to know in the first place always came to him in the most painful way possible. Reluctantly, he let go of the memory of the warm summer afternoon and its multi-layered conversation that only made complete sense in retrospect. If it were the worst he had to look back on, he'd be a happy wizard indeed. And yet, that day had been the first step on the road that brought him to where he was now. Facing reality on his own terms now was better than being forced to face it later on another's...

~ ~ ~ 

"Are you sure you don't want to come?"

Molly smiled brightly, arms around their sleepy, round-faced toddler, and shook her head.

"I'm fine, love, but Apparating or Floo travel would be a bit too much." She patted her belly happily. "The little one here has grown quite a bit over the last couple of weeks."

"You really don't want me to stay here, then?"

She waved him off and reached up to smooth down the collar of his dress robes.

"No, silly, it's not time yet. Muriel Lovegood is going to come over and do a little star chart divining with me for our new arrival. You know, tea leaves, chat and girl stuff." Arthur made a gesture of warding off evil and received a playful slap in return. "You've been holed up in the Burrow ever since dad's death, and Daniel and Mandy are looking forward to seeing you. Give them my love and my best wishes."

He kissed her, and then Bill, who opened one grouchy blue eye.

"I will."

He Apparated just outside the wards in front of the fence enclosing the wide lawn of the Prewett residence. It was cluttered with an assortment of chairs, pillows and sofas, including an antique padded rocking chair on which Daniel Prewett's elegant white Persian was curled. Numerous wizards and witches in their best robes were chatting amiably and enjoying the warm spring sunshine.

"Arthur!" A brown-haired witch ran across the lawn to greet him. He embraced her, laughing.

"Heather, it's great to see you again." He held her at arms length and looked her over. She wore blue robes, embroidered on neckline, sleeves and girdle with tiny pink roses.

"Beautiful - your work?"

The former Ravenclaw smiled proudly and nodded.

"Have a look at Mandy's wedding gown before you dish out compliments," she grinned. "All that time in Advanced Herbology was worth it after all - at least I could turn my little sister into the envy of the wizarding world."

"Hey, Weasley, are you smooching my girlfriend?"

Jonathan Brocklehurst sneaked up behind Heather MacDonald and put an arm around her waist.

"Your what? What happened to seven years of fighting tooth and nail for top marks at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, well," Jonathan shrugged sheepishly. "It turned out we had both been accepted to teach at the Salisbury Institute, and well, we didn't know any of the staff so we spent lots of time together, and it just... happened."

Arthur laughed. "Not that I'm not happy for you, but it's kind of like seeing Crux and McGonagall together. Have you seen Daniel or David?"

"They're back in the house putting hovering charms on the buffet," Heather explained. "Is Molly with you?"

"She didn't feel up to it, but she practically threw me out of the Burrow."

"Well, she sent Mandy a crystal ball message yesterday that she probably wouldn't be able to make it, and a love potion as a wedding gift," Heather snickered.

"What on earth for? I thought they already went through the handfasting ritual together?"

Heather smirked evilly. "Not _that_ kind of love potion, you poor innocent."

"Oh? Oh!" The infernal flush reappeared again. "I'll go look for the newlyweds before you corrupt me entirely," he mumbled and escaped to the house, leaving their laughter behind him.

As Heather had predicted, he found David Prewett in the kitchen. The grey-haired Auror surveyed his floating plates of canap and drinks with the same stern look he used to command his Hit Wizard Squad. His cold eyes warmed up a little when Arthur came in.

"Arthur, how good to see you. How're you holding up?"

Arthur shrugged. "All right. We've magicked so many extra rooms onto the Burrow that I'm surprised it hasn't exploded yet. Billy likes it, though. Molly's coping, and looking forward to the new baby."

"You're a lucky sod, Arthur, despite everything. I just hope Mandy and Daniel will be as happy."

"They around?"

"Probably snogging somewhere. That's my little brother, sneaking out of his own wedding reception..."

"Where's the rest of the Hit Squad?"

"On emergency duty," David sighed. "There were rumours about a possible attack on Hogsmeade. We'd be there as well, but Moody insisted we go through with the wedding. They have postponed it twice already, poor things..."

"Hey, David," a stern voice interrupted from the door. "I thought we put a ban on business talk for today. Arthur, you're an evil influence."

"Sorry," Arthur grinned over David's shoulder at Daniel and Mandy Prewett, who were leaning against the doorframe, hands pretty much all over each other. Heather had not promised too much, he thought when he saw Mandy. Her long-sleeved robes and hair were interwoven with swirls of flame-coloured miniature blossoms - she smelled like a rose garden and looked like a happy fire spirit. They walked over to embrace him, and he sighed and relaxed into their arms. For the first time in years it felt like being back at Hogwarts with his best friends.

Smiling, he handed them the parcel he'd brought. Daniel dug through the wrapping and lifted out two beautifully carved pocket watches on silver chains. They didn't have hands or numbers, but instead both faces read, in ornate script, 'Prewett Residence, Kitchen'.

"Portable Locus Amandis charms?" Daniel whispered. "Dear Gods, you finally did it!" Arthur nodded, proud and slightly wistful.

"Those were the prototypes, but with the shop and materials gone that's probably going to be it. Congratulations to you both," he said.

"It's so unfair," Mandy hissed angrily into his ear as she embraced him again. "You're brilliant at Magimechanics, completely wasted at a desk job at the Ministry!"

"Don't worry," he patted her shoulder. "I'll keep tinkering in my spare time, and I always wanted to work with Muggles."

"Now who said 'No job talk'?" David growled behind them. "Give me a hand with the levitating spells and let's get out there and feed the hordes."

Arthur took out his wand and poked two of the platters in front of him, while Mandy gave Daniel a lascivious leer and whispered audibly, "Pity, I was _so_ looking forward to trying Molly's potion..." Giggling like a pair of harpies they sped out of the kitchen. Arthur grinned and snatched a pumpkin pasty off one of the platters.

"I said float, not feed," David grumbled. They smiled at each other and followed the couple outside, trailed by a fleet of refreshments.

Outside, they were greeted with voiced approval by the guests, and there was even more applause when David conjured a truly impressive wedding cake in the shape of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, glazed with creamy white Butterbeer icing.

The bridal pair was just preparing to cut the cake when a dark shadow fell over the lawn. For a second Arthur thought it was a cloud blocking the sun, but then its colour turned darker, then green, and then dark shapes appeared from behind it. Paralysed with horror, Arthur watched the cloud uncoil itself into the shape of a snake curling around a skull. He did not need to hear the spell to recognise it. Morsmordre. The Dark Mark.

The Death Eaters swept down from the sky behind the mark, some on brooms, a handful on crazed-looking Hippogriffs. Hovering just out of reach, they performed an incantation that sent down a rainstorm of acidic droplets, and the celebration disintegrated into absolute chaos. Wizards and witches sped out of the way or huddled under their robes, some preparing for defence or performing shielding spells. A couple of drops hit Arthur's face and arms, and he moaned as the fluid seared his skin. While some of the Death Eaters took to hexing wedding guests indiscriminately from the air, the main group descended on the Prewetts, who were still crowded at the head of the table.

Daniel was the first to go for his wand, hitting one of the attackers in mid-flight with an Impedimenta spell. The Death Eater's broom stopped abruptly; its rider did not. He tumbled over the handle and crashed to the ground. David Prewett reactivated the floating charm on the platters and flung them outwards against the enemy. They sailed up like a flotilla of UFOs, causing several Death Eaters to veer off course abruptly. One Hippogriff ended up with the Hogwarts cake plastered all over its beak, and sped off screeching, oblivious to its rider's angry curses.

Arthur pulled out his wand and pointed it at one of the closest Death Eaters.

" _Incendio!_ " The black-clad figure sputtered as the tail twigs of his broom caught fire and he pulled off a rather close and hard landing. Snarling, he whirled to retaliate.

" _Reducto!_ " The curse slammed Arthur off his feet and sent him down into a clutter of abandoned chairs. He reached up to his throbbing head, momentarily blinded, and touched blood. _Hell! First blow and you're out - how typical, Arthur!_ He scrambled to his feet angrily.

Arthur could see that resistance had been organised among the frightened guests - Heather and Jonathan were throwing hexes at the trio of Death Eaters responsible for the acid rain, while some other wizards were busy constructing a shield to protect those around them. David, Daniel and Mandy stood back-to-back and duelled the group of Death Eaters who surrounded them. Trained Aurors and Hit Wizards as they were, they held their own, but barely.

" _Crucio!_ "

The spell came from the same Death Eater who had hexed Arthur. Daniel screamed and curled up into a ball on the grass, wand slipping out of his shaking hands. The Death Eater giggled delightedly at the young man's agonised whimpers. Mandy sobbed, shot a Stunning Spell at the offender and fell to her knees besides Daniel to undo the curse. While the Death Eater struggled with the Stunning Spell, the sorcerer next to him murmured a complicated incantation. He pointed his wand at Mandy's averted back. Her body was enveloped by a garish purple glow that faded quickly. She made a gurgling sound and clutched her chest. Blood started to trickle from her mouth, nose and eyes, even from under her fingernails. She dropped in a heap next to her husband, coughing up more blood, hands pressed desperately against her body as if to hold back whatever had been liquefied inside. Her dress slowly turned red, flame-coloured roses drowning in a sea of crimson.

" _Finite Incantatem! Finite Incantatem!_ " David screamed desperately, pointing his wand at her convulsing form, but Mandy's movements slowed until they hardly stirred the pool of dark blood that had formed below her body. Daniel reached out to her, still under the influence of the Cruciatus. His hands were gnarled and claw-like from sheer agony as he watched his wife of two hours bleeding to death before his eyes.

"Oh hell," Arthur heard the Death Eater who'd duelled him whisper, exasperation and disgust warring in his voice. " _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Green light washed over the two bodies. The Killing Curse extinguished the pain in the Daniel's upturned eyes with frightening ease and left only glazed-over blankness behind.

"Spoilsport," his companion complained dryly.

David looked down on the empty shells of his younger brother and his wife, and his face went cold. Without warning he threw the two Death Eaters off their feet with an Ice Wall hex and raised his wand again to cast something more deadly. Arthur felt a stab of panic as he noticed a third tall black-robed figure preparing to strike behind him. The air around David began to move and crackle, until it shifted itself around him like a solid hand.

Arthur grabbed his wand, praying his aim wouldn't fail him, and shot a stunning spell over David's shoulder at the Death Eater. The man looked up from the spell he was weaving just in time to whisper, " _Repello!_ "

The spell ricocheted back at Arthur, who threw himself out of the way at the last moment. It sizzled over his wand arm, leaving it almost paralysed and the sleeve of his robes covered with scorch marks.

David hissed and struggled with all his might against the spell that lifted him off his feet and gripped him in an invisible fist. His face contorted in pain as it started to squeeze around his spinal column.

" _Accio wand!_ " Arthur yelled, but the Death Eater just flicked off the spell and continued to intensify his pressure. The Auror twisted in the merciless grip and bit down on his lower lip forcefully to stop from crying out in front of his tormentor. Tears of frustration ran down Arthur's cheeks.

" _Accio mask!_ " He never understood where the thought came from, but he had to do something, anything, no matter how futile. He put all his energy into the Summoning Charm, and it ripped the white mask right off the Death Eater's face.

The man didn't seem to notice at all. His eyes were still fixed on the figure writhing in the air before him. A look of ecstatic exultation shone on his face. Not a strand of pale hair was out of place, and grey eyes sparkled with intense enjoyment as he observed his victim's suffering.

Lucius Malfoy.

The ex-Slytherin smiled up at the Auror and intensified his grip until David's spine broke with a dry, final crack. He dropped to the ground like a broken and disjointed doll. With that terrible cat-in-cream smile still etched on his face Malfoy turned to face Arthur. He flicked his wand and the mask flew back into his hand. Then he flicked the wand again...

Oh Gods, Arthur thought, I'm never going to see my unborn child.

" _Avada Ked-_ "

A hand seized the collar of Arthur's robes and yanked him out of the way. The green light of the Killing Curse whistled by where his head had been just a second ago. An intense cold touched his heart for a split second, then receded. Shaking, he turned his head and looked directly into the distinctive scowl of Alastor Moody, Auror. Behind him, several more Magical Law Enforcement Hit Wizards dropped out of thin air.

"Pays to know a way through my own flaming Apparation Wards," the Auror growled. "You all right, boy?"

Arthur nodded, breathing hard.

"Yes. But the Prewetts..." Moody's eyes roamed over the scene of destruction and he nodded, bitterly.

"Yeah. Voldemort's cronies planted false rumours to get us out of the way. But we'll make them pay, boy. You stay down."

Moody's squad formed a half-circle and advanced on the Death Eaters, who had assembled around their leader.

"We've accomplished what we came for," Malfoy told them, face again secured safely behind the Death Eater mask. "Let's go."

"Like hell," Moody muttered. " _Petrificus Totalus!_ " The spell came at Lucius with incredible speed, but one of the Death Eaters was quicker.

" _Detracto!_ " he yelled and the petrifying spell veered off course and harmlessly hit a sofa, sending it clattering across the lawn. The impact threw the man back into Lucius. He leaned into his arms for a second. "Get out. I'll hold them off."

Malfoy hesitated.

"Go!" the Death Eater yelled and shoved him back. Malfoy held up a hand and his broom jumped up into it. Before any of the Aurors could interfere, the Death Eater murmured " _Fumus!_ " and a thick cloud of smoke erupted between them and the fleeing dark wizards. It only took a handful of clearing spells to disperse it, but the distraction had given the Death Eaters enough time to take to the skies.

All but one. The remaining robed figure slowly reached up and took off its mask to reveal a calm, familiar face with honey-coloured eyes under a shock of light brown hair. Arthur gasped, and heard several of the Aurors do the same. He'd gone to school with the man, shared classes for years.

"Evan Rosier, you're under arrest for participating in the murder of three Aurors," Moody hissed. "Come quietly, and I'll guarantee you a fair trial."

Rosier smiled with genuine amusement. "I killed only two of them." He raised his wand challengingly. "I offer you revenge instead. Dance with me, Moody."

"Why should I bother duelling a worthless, low-life killer?"

"Because if you make it a free-for-all, I'll get at least one of you with the Killing Curse."

Moody snorted, lips curling in contempt. "You expect me to trust the word of a bloody Slytherin?"

Rosier nodded, unperturbed, never taking his eyes off Moody's. "Yes."

The grizzled Auror inclined his head in the tiniest of nods and raised his wand. " _Reducto!_ "

Rosier flew back and landed hard on the ground, but came to his feet again with a Kneazle's grace and only a slight grimace of pain.

" _Serpensortia!_ " he hissed at Moody. A tiny snake with gold and crimson marks shot at the Auror. He deflected it with a spell and it landed on the ground at his feet. Before he could stamp on it, it sank needle-sharp teeth into his boot. Moody cursed and put two purification charms and a healing spell on himself in quick succession. The poison didn't seem to slow him down much, but Arthur could see that he was limping.

" _Sanguis Incendio!_ " he shot back. Rosier gave a strangled scream and reeled back, as his blood started to burn inside him. He dropped to his hands and knees, struggling to control the pain.

"Give up," Moody growled.

"Not in this life," Rosier ground out through clenched teeth and flicked his wand. " _Furor Harpyiae!_ "

A tiny bat-like shape materialised at the tip of his wand and quickly increased in size. In a flutter of grey skin, leathery wings and tangled grey hair the harpy flung itself at Moody, teeth and claws clamping down on his face. The Auror screamed as he struggled with the creature. Finally, he grabbed its wings and forcefully ripped it off, incinerating it in mid-air with a muffled fire spell. Arthur gasped as he saw the claw marks that disfigured his face. He nose had been damaged worst - it was bleeding profusely where a whole chunk of flesh had been bitten off.

His voice was choked with blood, but amazingly he was still standing.

" _Sica!_ " A small shimmering blade appeared in Moody's palm and he flung it at Rosier. The magical knife hit the Death Eater squarely in the middle of the throat. A puzzled expression flickered across his face, then he crumbled to the ground with wide open eyes, a weird smile still dancing around his lips.

Moody fell to his knees heavily. One of the younger Aurors ran to his side and conjured a magical stretcher. Carefully, he helped his wounded chief to lie down and hovered above him nervously.

"Don't fuss, Potter," Moody admonished, his trademark growl very muted.

Arthur slumped down next to the bodies of the Prewetts, not daring to look at them, and absent-mindedly accepted the blanket a young Hit Witch offered him. He placed it over Daniel and Mandy's intertwined bodies, oblivious to the tears that were running down his face. Daniel's watch had slipped out of his pocket and lay next to them, broken glass obscuring the face that would never have anything written on it again.

"You, Weasley, is it?" He looked up at Moody, who had stopped the young wizard floating his stretcher to address him. "You recognised one of the bastards?"

Arthur closed his eyes for a second and nodded. There would be time to mourn later.

"Lucius Malfoy," he said flatly.

Moody grunted as Potter applied a blood stopping charm to his face. "Always knew that bastard was evil. I'll need you to testify to the Ministry."

"I'll come. But my wife is eight months pregnant and I don't want her to hear what happened today from the Wizarding Wireless..."

"Tomorrow morning, then," Moody murmured, blood loss and poison finally taking their toll. "We'll take that snake down."

Arthur looked over the lawn at the terrified witches and wizards attended to by Moody's team, at Heather, who sobbed over the body of her murdered sister while Jonathan stood behind her helplessly. He nodded again, very determinedly.

"Yes, we will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is borrowed from Mark Knopfler's song _What It Is_.
> 
> The wedding-gone-bad was inspired by George R. R. Martin's _A Storm of Swords_ \- a brilliant, innovative fantasy series if you have a lot of time on your hands.
> 
> Dame Alice Kyteler was accused of witchcraft in 14th century Ireland. She escaped, but several of her lower-class accomplices were executed.


	5. "... Is For Good Men To Do Nothing"

"Have you been reflecting on your sins, Arthur?" Malfoy's cold voice jerked Arthur out of his uneasy half-doze.

He blinked owlishly at the sudden light and quickly rubbed his eyes to hide the tears he'd been crying even in his sleep. When his eyesight had adapted to the brightness, he saw Malfoy standing in front of him, impeccable as always in embroidered black robes. Reality splashed over him like a bucket of ice water. Arthur recomposed his face into a mask of calm and tucked his shaking hands into the folds of his robe.

 _Merlin, if he casts that spell on me again I don't know what I'll do..._

"No," he replied in an almost unrecognisably hoarse voice. "I was reflecting on yours."

"Very cute," Lucius retorted. "If you want me to hurt you, why don't you say so outright, hm?" He raised a finger and traced the jagged cut Voldemort's spell had left on Arthur's cheek. "We will discuss your attitude later."

He stepped aside and signalled to a small shape huddling in the doorway. It slouched in nervously, and Arthur recognised the lamp-like eyes, large drooping ears and pointed nose of a rather downtrodden-looking house-elf. It wore a starched, lacy pillowcase stamped with the Malfoy crest, which was more than a bit frayed around the seams. Arthur observed it closely despite his murderous headache. He'd never been this close to a house-elf before. It carried a small tray that it now pressed into Arthur's hands. It stared at him with large, moist eyes and a grimace that was probably supposed to be a smile, but clashed horribly with its unsightly features. He took the tray and looked down at it. Jasmine tea and egg sandwiches?

 _Is water and bread too plebeian for the cre de la crème of the wizarding elite? Sod Malfoy!_

"You couldn't possibly find me a wand to go with the tea?" he asked the house-elf sardonically. The small creature gave him a look of pure terror and started to pull its already over-large ears as if intending to dislocate them from its head. Finally, it gave a strangled gulp, delivered a hard blow to the top of its head and dashed off like a voiceless banshee.

 _Oh, great going, Arthur!_ He slapped himself mentally. _Try again; maybe you can really frighten the poor thing..._

He gave the food a contemptuous glance. Probably mixed with more nasty stuff. Even if his stomach were not tied into knots, touching it would be a bad idea.

Malfoy had obviously read his mind, and sneered at him.

"Worried about poison, Arthur? Don't be. If I wanted to poison you, I'd tell you beforehand and force you to ingest it under Imperius. And since we're talking potions..." He produced a small flask from his robe pocket. "What a nice coincidence that an old... friend of mine has just brewed us a batch of Veritaserum, and I'll feel safer about it after a little test."

"No honour among bastards?" Arthur couldn't help but mock.

"None whatsoever," Lucius confirmed. "Now," he held up the flask, "drink or Imperius?"

For a second, Arthur clenched his fists hard enough to draw blood. Then he let out his breath and took the flask out of Lucius' hand. He raised it to the Slytherin wizard in an exaggerated mock toast and swallowed the few drops of fluid.

It was completely tasteless, yet it burned down his throat right into his stomach like strong alcohol. Instead of dulling his mind, however, it was sharpening his wits while at the same time detaching them completely from his emotions.

"All right," Lucius drawled, "let's check this, shall we? Who was the first person you slept with?"

Arthur's mind sputtered with outrage even as he heard himself answer.

"Molly."

"How quaint yet unsurprising. Details?"

"In our seventh year at Hogwarts, Greenhouse Three." _And I can't bloody *believe* you asked that,_ his mind added, but the potion didn't allow it through.

"An outrageous example to the Mandrakes," Lucius taunted. "Who's your favourite child, and why?"

 _All of them,_ he thought automatically, and was shocked to hear himself say, "Bill and the twins. They have an anarchic personality I admire."

"Very good." A twisted smile. "What do you think about me?"

"I don't understand you. I detest you. You're a Death Eater. You enjoy killing - you murdered my friends. You tried to kill my daughter."

It came out in a jumbled gush, and even as he spoke Arthur wondered if the potion was just pulling out everything that came to his mind in a random heap, or if there was a meaning behind the order. He hoped not.

"Poetic justice, wasn't it?" Malfoy shot back. "And since we are on that topic already and you've been reminiscing anyway, why don't we talk about what exactly happened after you identified me to your little Ministry cronies as a Death Eater all those years ago? Go ahead, Arthur. I want to hear your confession directly from yourself, so you'll not be able to say I condemned you without reason..."

~ ~ ~ 

The morning after the wedding a still shell-shocked Arthur Weasley walked into a Ministry that buzzed like a beehive with frightened rumour. He'd spent a sleepless night in Molly's arms, reliving visions of the Prewetts' deaths and Lucius Malfoy's face whenever he tried to close his eyes.

He hadn't strayed into the Magical Law Enforcement wing very often - the very corridors looked off-putting. Of course that might be because the last time he'd walked them had been with his father. Still, he received a score of suspicious side-glances just for being an unfamiliar face in a very claustrophobic community.

Finally, he asked a middle-aged witch carrying a large pile of documents for the way. She directed him to the office of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement as warily as if he'd asked about how best to assassinate the Minister of Magic. The antechamber was guarded by three frustrated security trolls, sporting large clubs and grunting disconcertingly at passers-by, particularly those of the female variety.

They started grumbling when he opened the door, but made no move to stop him. Inside, he immediately spotted a familiar face, engaged in vehement argument with an unfamiliar one. Arthur recognised the young, dark-haired wizard of Moody's team, who had medicated the Auror after Rosier's spell had tried to take his head off. Behind the desk sat a wizard of medium height, with brown hair and formal grey robes. He looked quite agitated.

"We have to act, now!"

The younger man - Porter? - pushed a hand through his messy black hair. "But Auror Moody said-"

"Alastor Moody is incapacitated at the moment and a bit too... independent sometimes," the older wizard retorted sharply, then noticed Arthur. His frown deepened. "Who are you?"

The younger man followed his gaze, and a relieved smile spread over his features. "That's him, sir. Mr. Weasley."

"Finally!" The wizard rose and shook Arthur's hand in a businesslike manner. "I'm Theobald Wolfe, aide to Bartemius Crouch, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You should have come here immediately yesterday; we have got to take your statement before we can authorise a raid on Malfoy Manor. Please sit." He waved away the young hit wizard. "You may return to your team, Mr. Potter. Please inform Auror McKinnon that I'll be with her shortly."

When Potter had disappeared, Wolfe turned a scrutinising eye on Arthur.

"Mr. Weasley, correct? Son of the late Ronald Weasley?"

"Yes." The word fell from his lips like a shovel of dirt onto a coffin lid, more bitter than Arthur had intended. The implication wasn't lost on the other wizard.

"You were a guest at the Prewetts' wedding, I was informed. How well did you know the hosts?"

"I was in the same year at Hogwarts with Daniel Prewett and Heather Macdonald. Mandy was one year below us. I knew David through Daniel, he was almost like an older brother to us both." Arthur took a deep breath and forced back the tears. He would be damned if he was going to show weakness in front of this man.

"How about your yearmates in Slytherin house, Mr. Weasley?"

What the hell is he on about, Arthur wondered.

"I ignored them. They ignored me."

"Is that so?" Wolfe rifled through some papers on his desk. "You seem to have been on quite friendly terms with Alan Lestrange, one of the two known Death Eaters of that year, and a good friend of Lucius Malfoy whom you claim to have recognised."

Arthur gasped in outrage.

"What are you trying to accuse me of? Yes, I partnered Lestrange in Muggle Studies and for a handful of other projects, and no, I did not know that he was going to join the Dark Lord immediately after leaving school!"

"Please, Mr. Weasley, I'm not accusing you of anything. I merely want to get a clearer picture of the situation. You're certainly aware of the fact that Lucius Malfoy is heir to one of the most prominent families in the Wizarding World. Before we persecute him as a Death Eater on the testimony of a single witness, we have to ascertain that said witness is reliable."

He tapped the tip of his hawk feather Quick Quotes Quill against the table.

"Now, the Department of Mysteries has had all members of said Slytherin year under surveillance ever since Alan and Marie Lestrange went over to the Dark Side so... spectacularly. No evidence on any of them has surfaced so far, and sadly enough we cannot haul them in for interrogation without any reason at all. But as far as reliability is concerned," he gave Arthur another sharp look, "I'm sorry to say that we also had reason to observe your brother, at least until he went underground two years ago."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur yelled and leaned over desk in astonished rage. "Underground? You are investigating my brother as a Death Eater? I can't believe this!"

"Please, calm down, Mr. Weasley," the wizard advised. "It is our duty in these troubled times to investigate potential defectors to the Dark Side. Your brother has repeatedly expressed deep-seated hostility against the Ministry, and then he disappeared immediately after your father's trial. He'd make an ideal target for recruitment by the servants of You-Know-Who."

"Are you aware, Mr. Wolfe," Arthur replied in a very low and dangerous voice, "that something very similar could be said about me?"

"Very much so, Mr. Weasley," the other said coldly. "In fact, I was surprised that the Ministry chose to employ you at all." He leafed through the papers again. "I see that Mr. Rookwood recommended you. Augustus is a good man, if a little trusting and over-enthusiastic sometimes. That's one of the reasons why my department head, Mr. Crouch, has asked me to interview you personally. We cannot take any risks in our position. You yourself saw what happened to the Prewetts."

"I'll have you know, Mr. Wolfe, that my brother Michael has left England to work as a treasure guard for Gringotts' Brazil branch. You'll be able to verify that, I'm sure."

"Of course." He folded his hands, supremely unconvinced, and Arthur had to quell a rare urge to draw his wand.

"Now, about yesterday's events." Wolfe put the Quill to a blank sheet of parchment, where it began to scribble furiously. "You told Aurors Moody and Potter that you recognised Lucius Malfoy among the Death Eaters attacking the Prewetts?"

Arthur took another calming breath. He really hadn't needed the reminder of his father's death and his falling-out with Michael, not from this sarcastic bastard of a bureaucrat.

"I tried to disarm the Death Eater who was attacking David Prewett. It didn't work. Finally I Accio-ed his mask, intending to scare him off. I saw his face. It was Lucius Malfoy. He killed David anyway. Then he tried to kill me. Alastor Moody intervened just in time, but by the time the Hit Wizards arrived Malfoy had already retrieved his mask."

"So you're absolutely positive that it was Mr. Malfoy, and you didn't recognise any of the others?"

"Unless someone else took Polyjuice Potion it was Malfoy. It's not like his looks can be easily mistaken. I also recognised Evan Rosier, but so did everybody else."

"That will be all, then." Wolfe waited until the Quill had finished recording Arthur's statement, then shoved the parchment over to him. "You'll have to sign this. Now we can send a team of Aurors out to Malfoy Manor to secure evidence and - if possible - to arrest Lucius Malfoy. Although by now it may be far too late - he has probably repaired to You-Know-Who's headquarters already."

Arthur signed as quickly as possible - the Quill had recorded his words spot on, which was rare - and stormed out of the office, still quietly seething.

Outside, he almost ran into the young Auror who had argued with Wolfe earlier. He seemed taken aback by the furious glitter in Arthur's eyes, but grabbed his robe sleeve and pulled him further away from the door. Arthur winced. His arm was still sore from Malfoy's reflected spell.

"Mr. Weasley, Auror Moody asked me to get you," the youth whispered conspiratorially.

"Alastor Moody?" Arthur frowned. "Isn't he in St. Mungo's?"

"No," Potter shook his head firmly. "Too many Slytherins employed there. He wouldn't go anywhere but the MLE Infirmary. Will you come, please?"

Arthur resisted the temptation to take his anger out on the young wizard by just refusing, and nodded curtly instead.

He followed Potter down a couple of flights until they reached the Infirmary. It was a small, rather cramped room, and another Hit Wizard was perched on one of the chairs, seemingly itching to hex whoever came too close. He lowered his wand when he recognised Potter.

"Just me, Uther," Arthur's companion said.

They slipped into one of the small cubicles that hid the individual beds from curious onlookers.

Arthur shivered when he saw the Auror. His face looked almost worse than after the duel, if that was possible. Bright orange 'If It Won't Kill You It'll Make You Better' healing paste had been applied to his wounds, and a herbal salve charm covered the remains of his nose. A young woman in the blue robes of a mediwitch was fussing with the bandages.

"Why are you so stubborn?" she hissed without noticing their entrance. "You should be in St. Mungo's. Baddock and Parkinson are experts on duelling injuries, they could do _so_ much more than I!"

"Yeah, slip me something lethal," the Auror wheezed in a strangled voice. "They're Slytherins, Poppy, and friends of the Malfoys. I don't have a death wish."

"Really? In that case you should have taken a Sleeping Draught hours ago. Magical Law Enforcement operations will not break down without you." She put a potion-filled beaker before him forcefully. "Drink and get the rest you need, or Lucius Malfoy can carve another notch for a dead Auror into his wand."

Moody stared over her shoulder at Arthur and Potter, and reached out to pat her hand weakly.

"I'll talk to these two for a minute, and then I'll sleep. Promise, Poppy."

The young woman shot him an exasperated look and rose.

"I'll better Floo back to St. Mungo's then."

"Thanks, Poppy," Moody replied. "And tell Baddock and Parkinson I'll have a closer look into their affairs if they try to give you grief over this."

The nurse shook her head, mouth quirking upwards slightly. "You're incorrigible," she sighed and gathered her equipment. " _Don't_ keep him up," she hissed at Arthur and his companion in a very stern voice as she brushed by.

"Ah, Weasley," the Auror waved him closer. "How did your testimony go?"

Arthur grimaced. "You mean before or after Mr. Wolfe called my brother a Death Eater and me unfit to work for the Ministry?" he asked sarcastically.

Moody wheezed again. "Gave you a hard time, did he? Nasty little weasel, Wolfe! Was with the Unspeakables too long. Paranoid, the whole lot... But seriously, did he tell you to lie low?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Stupid twat! More interested in nailing Death Eaters than protecting innocents." The Auror coughed wetly. "What I mean, boy, is that you and your family should go into hiding. Malfoy and his cronies might come after you because you exposed him. That'd be Death Eater style. Potter here has already been on it." He turned to the young hit wizard without giving Arthur time to respond. "Get him settled in and then get back. I want you on that Malfoy raid. Who's going to lead it?"

"Louise McKinnon."

"Good." The Auror closed his eyes for a second before taking a sip from the beaker. He looked like death warmed over. Potter grabbed Arthur's arm and pulled him out of the cubicle.

"Thank Merlin!" he sighed when Moody was out of earshot. "I thought he'd never go to sleep. Now," he grinned at Arthur, "I've found the ideal hiding place for your family. Hogwarts!"

"Hogwarts?" Arthur repeated.

"Yes, I've already spoken to headmaster Dumbledore. Not the school itself, it would be a bit too public, but he asked Hagrid, and he'd love to have you. Dumbledore has already made the necessary arrangements. I've asked a friend of mine to pick up your wife and son - she can't Floo or Apparate because of the pregnancy, right? Well," he grinned slyly, "I hope she's not afraid of flying."

"Flying?" Arthur gasped, overwhelmed by the speed with which the young man was proceeding. "Even Floo powder would be safer than a broomstick!"

"Oh, a broom's not what I had in mind..."

Arthur Apparated just outside the Hogwarts grounds, at the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Potter appeared next to him, took a step and stumbled into a gnomehole, cursing. Hagrid's hut lay just beyond, and when the two walked up to it they saw the Keeper of the Grounds standing outside the open door next to a young black-haired wizard and an enormous black motorcycle. Molly sat with the baby on the garden bench in front of the hut, half hidden behind Hagrid's large frame. She flirted playfully with the handsome young wizard, who was busy tickling Bill's toes.

"Sirius!" Potter waved to the man and broke into a run.

The two embraced, and again Arthur was painfully reminded that he would never see or hold Daniel or Mandy again.

He followed Potter more slowly, and was introduced to Sirius Black, the owner of the motorcycle. Hagrid beamed at Arthur and took his hand into his large fist.

"Arthur, great t'see yeh again. Ah'm glad ter have the three of yeh. The headmaster's charmed two more rooms onta me hut, wouldn't be fit fer a family otherwise." He led Arthur into his rather rustic hut, which now sported an additional door leading into a spacious living room and, off it, into a similarly roomy bedroom. Both were crammed full of beautiful but mismatched wooden furniture, a style that reminded Arthur very much of Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts. He turned and grinned at Hagrid, who was looking at him apprehensively.

"It's perfect, Hagrid. Thank you!"

Potter stuck his head into the room and waved Arthur back out again.

"Mr. Weasley, I have to go." He hesitated for a second, pushing his hand through his untamed fringe. "Could I ask you a favour?"

Arthur nodded, curiously.

"Would you mind checking on Auror Moody later? I don't know how long the team will be gone, and he's not the most... patient of patients."

Arthur promised and Potter went to collect his friend, who let go of Bill almost reluctantly. They hopped on the motorcycle, which Hagrid was eyeing with ill-disguised awe, and took off.

When Arthur returned to the Ministry infirmary after a quiet afternoon with Molly and Hagrid, he found Moody's cubicle empty. Somehow, it didn't really surprise him. The very miffed mediwitch on duty informed him that 'the hero' had gone off to see his returning team. She added a couple of choice comments about "disregarding sound medical advice" and "calling in private little nurses from St. Mungo's" before Arthur could beat a hasty retreat.

He found Moody in the Ministry complex's main courtyard, in a comfortable levitating rocking chair. With him were Bartemius Crouch, the famous head of Magical Law Enforcement, his assistant Wolfe and a tall woman with short grey hair and an Auror's badge. The courtyard bustled with Ministry employees and Hit Wizards, all busy unpacking a number of heavy crates. In a cordoned-off corner, a dozen hysterical house-elves were flitting around, wailing and engaged in various forms of self-mutilation. Arthur saw Potter standing in front of them, trying to pacify the terrified creatures, but their din drowned him out easily. He shivered, although it was quite sunny.

Moody noticed Arthur and waved him over. Crouch inclined his head politely. Wolfe glared.

"Did you get Malfoy?" Arthur asked apprehensively.

"Like hell!" Moody cursed, ignoring Crouch's reproachful look. "House-elves say he's been 'away on business' for days, but y'know how reliable _they_ are. Bastard seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth."

The female Auror clenched her fists in frustration.

"He's got to have a hideout. We've cleaned out practically everything from Malfoy Manor that wasn't nailed down, and he's got fewer Dark Artefacts around than _my_ family."

"That is no joking matter, Louise," Crouch interrupted sternly.

"I'm not joking, Bartemius," she retorted. "Fact is, Lucius got away, there's nothing to determine his whereabouts _anywhere_ in that blasted mansion of his, and his house-elves are unlikely to give us any hints either!"

"Well," Wolfe threw in maliciously, "maybe his wife will." He pointed at the wand-happy Hit Wizard Uther who had guarded Moody's door in the infirmary, and was now approaching, clutching the arm of a slightly dishevelled, very furious young woman.

Arthur recognised her immediately. Narcissa Lemarchand had been one of Hogwarts' celebrities - member of one of the Wizarding World's most wealthy and influential families, beautiful enough even in Fourth Year to rival Marie Lestrange, energetic and with a tongue like Salazar Slytherin's wand. Not to mention the only person, male or female, who had managed to gain - and keep - Lucius Malfoy's interest. Their marriage, celebrated soon after she'd finished Hogwarts, had been the highlight of last year's wizarding society events.

Now, she looked far less regal than on the Daily Prophet's wedding pictures. She wore an unadorned house robe under a mismatched cloak, and several long blonde strands had escaped her complicated hair knot.

"Crouch!" she snapped, identifying her chief enemy immediately. "How dare you attack my home?"

Crouch seemed utterly unfazed.

"Mrs. Malfoy, your husband has been identified as a servant of You-Know-Who-"

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," she shook her head wildly. "It looks more as if you're again allowing your rabid anti-Slytherin prejudice to gain the upper hand."

"I am not motivated by prejudice, Mrs. Malfoy," Crouch replied adamantly. "I am merely following legal procedure as specified by the Emergency Wizarding Protection Act. You are here under suspicion of being a Death Eater, or at least of aiding and abetting one."

 _He's got to be kidding,_ Arthur thought.

"With all due respect, sir," he interjected, "I identified _Lucius_ Malfoy, not his wife." Narcissa shot him a very dirty look.

"For all we know," Wolfe threw in angrily, "she could have been one of the Death Eaters who slaughtered the Prewetts!"

"For all we know, she could be not," Arthur retorted.

"Please, gentlemen," Crouch interrupted. "At the moment, Mrs. Malfoy's arrest is merely a precaution. Unless further proof of her involvement with the Dark is forthcoming, she will be released from Azkaban shortly with a formal apology."

"Azkaban?" All colour drained out of the young woman's face.

"You can't be serious," Arthur protested.

"Mr. Weasley!" Crouch's voice remained polite, but there was a steely undertone to it. "Azkaban has been designed to hold Death Eater suspects without endangering the Ministry. Do I have to remind you of what happened when the MLE brought the Lestranges in for questioning without realising the full extent of their involvement with You-Know-Who? Five good wizards died that day, and as long as I am head of this office I will do _whatever_ it takes to prevent a catastrophe like that from ever occuring again."

He turned and gestured towards two vague, hooded shapes that were almost invisible at the far end of the courtyard. As they slid closer, Arthur found himself drowning in a pool of horrifying memories. His father wasting away before his eyes, the Prewetts dying screaming on their own front lawn, Lucius Malfoy's exultation as he raised his wand to strike him with the Killing Curse... suddenly it was cold, terribly, bone-chillingly cold.

Dementors!

Narcissa Malfoy jerked back as if she had been touched with a red-hot iron, and lost all semblance of self-control. Before anyone could react, she kneed the wizard holding her arm in a very vulnerable place, pulled out of his suddenly limp grip as he folded in on himself, and reached for his wand.

" _Imperio!_ " the female Auror spat, her own wand out. The younger woman fought the spell for a second, almost biting through her lower lip in the process, then sank to her knees on the cobblestones. Narcissa Malfoy's eyes turned almost impossibly dark with terror as the scabbed hands of one  
Ddementor went around her body and almost tenderly lifted her into its arms, while its companion leaned close with an air of obscene greed. Although the curse stopped her from moving, Arthur could practically _hear_ her muscles contorting under the vile touch. Her face was screwed up badly, but it was from the effort of fighting tears rather than shedding them. At last, her head dropped back and she lost consciousness, blood still trailing down her lip as the awful creature carried her off.

Arthur had tears in his eyes himself, both from the memories the Dementors had shaken loose inside his mind and because Narcissa Malfoy's terror reminded him all too vividly of the Prewetts' last moments.

"That was an Unforgivable Curse," he gasped in horror.

"The Emergency Wizarding Protection Act has exempted Magical Law Enforcement personnel from the ban on the Unforgivable Curses, Mr. Weasley," Crouch reminded him sternly. "Auror McKinnon was well within her rights to use it."

Arthur opened his mouth for a scathing reply, but Alastor Moody silenced him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Let it go, boy. He's right. This is a war, and sometimes we have to do harsh things, or we'll have no chance in hell against the Dark Side. Doesn't mean we have to be proud of it, though." He gazed at the receding back of the Dementor pensively.

"I bloody well hope you're not!" Arthur spat, too shocked to pay any attention to the presence of the other Ministry officials. Without another word, he turned and left the courtyard, and finally the Ministry building itself. He needed time to think, and he needed to be around Molly and Bill to calm the terrible ache in his heart.

***

Next morning's sunrise found Arthur at the top of one of Hogwarts' higher towers, pacing in front of Albus Dumbledore's door.

Visiting the headmaster had been - unsurprisingly - Molly's immediate advice after she had extracted last afternoon's events from him in the large four-poster bed Dumbledore had Transfigured for them. As always, she'd seen the answer much more clearly than him.

He had virtually run out of names of sweets with which to tempt the headmaster's door, when suddenly it swung open and Dumbledore peeked out. He was wearing an orange-and-yellow striped dressing gown and a matching night cap. His long beard had obviously not yet seen a comb and was extremely tousled.

"Arthur, my dear boy!" he greeted. "I had hoped you would drop by." He gave the door a thoughtful look, and added off-handedly, "I've been thinking about putting a statue here... a griffon perhaps, or a gargoyle..."

Arthur just stared, slightly taken aback by the headmaster's eccentricity.

Dumbledore gave him a bright smile.

"Do come in."

The staircase gently spiralled them up to the Headmaster's office.

"Will you take a cup of tea with me?" Dumbledore asked after he had beckoned Arthur inside.

"Thank you, sir." Arthur was expecting it to be a long conversation, so he gratefully accepted one of the two mugs the headmaster conjured.

"Please, call me Albus," Dumbledore said cheerfully. He levitated a pile of books off a carved antique chair and motioned for Arthur to sit. "Now, please tell me what's on your mind."

Arthur took a sip from his steaming mug, relishing the taste of orange and spices, before blurting out the story of the Malfoy raid and its consequences.

"It's just _wrong_ " he finished with an intensity born from self-loathing. "They can't just drag somebody to Azkaban without a shred of evidence. I should have done something!"

Dumbledore stroked his beard pensively.

"I'm glad that you feel that way, Arthur, especially after the losses you have suffered," he replied after a short pause. "In troubled times like these, it's sometimes easy to exchange conscience for expedience. And if we walk that path, it may lead us down to a point where we come face to face with our enemies and find ourselves looking at our own reflection in a mirror. It takes great courage to shun that path - even, or maybe in particular, for a Gryffindor."

"Some Gryffindor I was," Arthur retorted bitterly, "letting myself be intimidated by authority. Gryffindors shouldn't run away from a fight just because the odds are bad. If I'd wanted to do that, I should have kept my mouth shut about Malfoy in the first place."

"I think you believe that no more than I do, Arthur. But certainly you haven't come here just to let me know about the latest injustice at the Ministry. What can I do for you?"

Arthur took another sip, uncomfortable at the thought of further intruding on the old headmaster's hectic life after everything he had already done for him.

"You are one of the most respected people in the magical community," he began hesitantly. If you were to point out to the Ministry that their... _methods_ leave a lot to be desired, they would listen."

Dumbledore sighed.

"I wish they would, Arthur." He rubbed the crook of his nose above the half-moon spectacles. "I'm afraid, though, that my public opposition to the Emergency Wizarding Protection Act and the involvement of Azkaban's Dementors in Magical Law Enforcement has estranged me quite thoroughly from people like Barty Crouch. But yes, I will owl the Ministry, and also the Lemarchand twins to express my condolences about Mr. Crouch's decision concerning their sister." He gave Arthur a penetrating look, eyes twinkling. "And what are your plans, my friend?"

Arthur answered with a wry smile of his own.

"I'll have another word with Alastor Moody. If that doesn't work... well, I also have an alternative plan, though if that fails I'd appreciate it if you could send a second letter to the Ministry to get _me_ out of Azkaban..."

Dumbledore chuckled quietly.

"I don't think it will come to that. Alastor is a good man, and a good friend." He smiled at Arthur. "Like you, Arthur. I'm glad to have you on our side."

Arthur's ears went slightly red at that.

  


~ ~ ~

  


Several hours later, he had tracked Alastor Moody down to the antechamber of Bartemius Crouch's office - past the obligatory security trolls - and was trying to persuade Crouch's personal assistant to call the Auror out of his meeting. The young wizard looked terrified at the very thought, and Arthur mused that his must be a bloody unpleasant job.

It took another ten minutes of persuasion before the man found the courage to knock at the office door and ask Moody outside.

The Auror was out of his levitating chair, but still looked terrible. Arthur marvelled at his stamina, and noticed that Crouch's assistant was desperately trying not to look at the mutilated face.

"Weasley?" he asked worriedly. "Something wrong?"

"Yes, indeed," Arthur replied firmly. "I realised that I acquiesced to a horrible travesty of justice yesterday, and I'm here to rectify that."

Moody sighed, plainly torn between exasperation and understanding.

"Look, boy-" he started, but Arthur interrupted him.

"You told me to go into hiding yesterday because the Death Eaters like to go after the families of those who cross them. Are you going to tell me that sort of behaviour is acceptable as long as it's our side which practices it?"

"It's out of my hands now, Weasley," said Moody. "But I don't think Crouch will be able to hold her long - the Lemarchands are on the war path big time, and Barty got an owl from Dumbledore this morning that did not make him happy at all. It'll be over soon."

Arthur shook his head.

"Not good enough."

Moody observed him, eyes half-closed in concentration.

"This isn't just about Narcissa Malfoy, is it? You have your own axe to grind with Magical Law Enforcement, because of your father."

Arthur pondered this for a moment.

"Perhaps. But then again, maybe that just makes me more sensitive to the injustices the MLE permits."

"What do you think I can do, boy?"

"Let me speak to Mr. Crouch for a minute," Arthur replied.

"Are you going to do something stupid?"

"That depends on your definition of stupid..."

  


~ ~ ~

  


"Mr. Weasley." Bartemius Crouch looked up coldly at Arthur, who stood in front of his desk with Moody looming behind his shoulder. The head of Magical Law Enforcement put a slender hand on a pile of parchments before him. Most were ripped at the edges, and sported scorch marks - as did the desk itself. A trademark red envelope among the pile confirmed Arthur's suspicions - a Howler. "Do I have you to thank for this hostile barrage of letters pressing for Mrs. Malfoy's immediate release?"

Arthur met his gaze directly. He had turned his speech around in his head ever since his talk with Dumbledore.

"Mr. Crouch, I understand the necessity of investigating Lucius Malfoy's activities. I also understand that this will involve interviewing his wife with regard to potential Death Eater activities. But Azkaban? Sir, we send the worst criminals in the Wizarding World there as a punishment." He put all the conviction he felt into his voice. "To condemn somebody to that hell just because she is married to a Death Eater, and may not even have been aware of it, is wrong. It makes us no better than them. And the consequences of prolonged exposure to Dementors can be more serious than an apology may be able to cure."

Crouch's eyes narrowed.

"I strongly doubt that any Death Eater can be so secretive that even his closest family members remain ignorant of his... pursuits. I am very sorry, but I have to decline your request until the interviews are concluded."

Arthur took a deep breath. This was it.

"Sir, I would regret it very much if I had to walk into the Daily Prophet offices and confess to the editor that I have falsely accused Lucius Malfoy because of a school feud and that despite my best efforts Magical Law Enforcement still persists with keeping his young wife incarcerated at Azkaban."

Crouch looked at the file on his desk.

"There was no feud between you and Mr. Malfoy at Hogwarts..." He fell silent and gave Arthur a piercing, incredulous look. "Are you trying to blackmail me, Mr. Weasley?"

"I had hoped to convince you without having to resort to this," Arthur admitted.

"Are you aware that I could have you arrested?"

Arthur shrugged.

"Not until I actually do it, and afterwards it won't matter any more, because the public outcry will be loud enough to shake the Ministry in its foundations. And with public scrutiny turned on Magical Law Enforcement, who knows whether the Emergency Wizarding Protection Act with all its unsavoury sub-clauses will not come under reinvestigation...?"

"This is Dumbledore's doing, isn't it?" Crouch hissed. "Always trying to sabotage our work, and of course he would be in league with the Lemarchands..."

"Dumbledore has nothing to do with this," Arthur shot back heatedly and fell silent when Moody raised both hands in a pacifying gesture.

"Look, Barty," the Auror rumbled thoughtfully, "perhaps they're right. We have the resources to hold the girl at the Ministry. You know her brothers - they'll use every Galleon they're making from Dervish & Banges to fight us, and there'll be nasty articles in the Prophet even without Arthur here. And Dumbledore - perhaps we should concentrate on the Death Eaters instead of fighting our allies."

Crouch leaned back in his chair, anger still visible on his face, but his eyes slowly went from steely fury to the darker grey of resentment.

"Perhaps you're right, Alastor. Perhaps I am too... preoccupied with fighting the Death Eaters to pay enough attention to public opinion. Ask Theobald and Louise to transfer the suspect from Azkaban fortress to the Ministry." He brushed Arthur with an icy glare. "I assume that will satisfy you, Mr. Weasley?"

Arthur nodded, trying very hard to suppress the urge to apologise for having so pressured the man.

"Then if you don't mind, I have work to do. And I certainly will have words with Augustus Rookwood about the quality of personnel he recommends for employment at the Ministry."

  


~ ~ ~

  


As he preceded Moody through the door, an uncomfortable nagging thought disturbed Arthur's mind - something that had nothing to do with Crouch, but rather with Crouch's parting shot. Words with Augustus Rookwood... For a second, he was back in a sun-flooded Ministry corridor, almost a year back...

"I know Lucius, and I'm absolutely certain he's not involved with the Death Eaters." Rookwood had been wrong. But had he been wrong on purpose? Arthur gave Moody a pensive glance. _I could mention it. Perhaps I *should* mention it._

 _No!_ Resolve flooded him. _You have done enough harm already, Arthur. You will *not* throw another one to the wolves, especially not someone who has shown you nothing but support._

Calmly, he parted company with the Auror and walked back to his office.

  


~ ~ ~

  


Finding himself alone, Arthur laid his forehead against the tabletop and closed his eyes. Crouch would not forget this, ever. He was probably as good as fired from the Ministry already, not to mention that Wolfe's kind would find their worst suspicions about him confirmed.

 _Did I do the right thing?_ he wondered.

 _Yes, and you took your bloody time, too!_ his inner Gryffindor shot back.

Sighing, he picked up his bulging 'Confiscated Items' file and began categorising the parchments in alphabetical order.

He had just reached 'H' -- 'Howling Hair-Dye' when Arnold Peasegood stuck his head into the office.

"There's somebody in the fireplace for you." As a subdivision of the Office of Misinformation, they shared the fireplace in the hallway with the Obliviators.

 _This is it,_ Arthur thought. He slouched out of the office, nodding to Arnold, who leaned over and mouthed,

"Hogwarts."

A quick step later, and Arthur was standing in front of the fireplace and looking at the flame-crowned head of Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. Her normally stern features were uncharacteristically soft.

"Mr. Weas... Arthur," she greeted him with a smile. "Congratulations. You're father to a second son."

Arthur felt his expression changing from worry into a supremely silly grin.

"He was born in Hagrid's hut, actually," the professor added with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "School Nurse Figg was quite impressed with his assistance, and both Molly and the baby are well. Madam Figg insisted on Flooing them to St. Mungo's Midwitchery Ward though, just to make sure everything's fine." Another wry smile. "Neither she nor Hagrid felt too competent at midwitchery."

Arthur's grin broadened. Old Mathilda Figg was famous for her skills with Quidditch injuries, potion accidents and botched Transfigurations, but he bet nobody had ever asked her to deliver a baby...

"Hagrid has gone off to calm his frazzled nerves at the Hog's Head, but sends his congratulations. And don't worry about Bill - he's got all of the staff twisted around his little finger already. We'll take care of him until you and Molly return."

"Thanks - for everything," Arthur answered, still grinning like a madman.

"Well," McGonagall waved him away sternly, "dash off, will you?"

  


~ ~ ~

  


The sprawling white building that housed the London branch of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries resembled a Victorian manor house more than a renowned wizarding clinic. It was located in an Unplottable and heavily anti-Muggle charmed area in one of London's larger parks. Arthur Apparated into its huge, crowded Visitor Hall of Apparition, whose walls were lined with fireplaces. A young wizard was handing out multi-coloured Short-Jump Floo Powder to the milling crowd.

"Midwitchery Ward," Arthur told him, and received a handful of pink and light-blue powder.

He came out in another fireplace, hair and robes sprinkled with coloured ashes. A young nurse showed him to Molly's room. It was small, cheerful and dominated by a big window overlooking the park.

Molly looked worn-out, but gave him a bright smile when he entered. Her arm was curled protectively around a small bundle of blankets next to her in bed.

"A Charlie instead of a Gina," she murmured, caressing the tuft of red-golden hair on the newborn's head. Hair like his brother Michael, Arthur thought, not dark red like Billy's...

"He's beautiful, Molly." It was very hard to take his eyes off the sleeping, slightly crumpled face of his son. "Are you all right?"

"Never better. It was even easier than with Billy." Her grin became distinctly wry. "We hardly had time to call Madam Figg through the fireplace. I think I gave Hagrid the fright of his life."

Arthur chuckled, stroking the baby's cheek lightly. "If Hagrid was the first thing he saw, I bet he's going to be fond of large things."

Molly yawned and rubbed her eyes.

"Tired?"

"A little. I haven't had much time to rest yet, and the Floo travel was pretty awful."

  


~ ~ ~

  


He was watching her drift off to sleep when a familiar raspy voice from the corridor interrupted the quiet of the Ward. Arthur's ears perked up. Moody? Here?

With a last look at Molly and little Charlie he tiptoed to the door to investigate the sudden noise.

He opened the door and saw a small group of people standing a little way down the corridor. To his great surprise, Arthur recognised Moody, Wolfe and the woman Auror, McKinnon.

 _They've come to take me to Azkaban!_ was Arthur's first thought.

His fear was quickly calmed when Moody waved him over. Wolfe's face pulled itself into an Avada Kedavra scowl, while McKinnon looked at her feet.

"Your wife?" Moody asked.

"She just gave birth to a son," Arthur replied, still marvelling at the warmth that spread through his whole body at that thought.

"Congratulations!" The Auror's voice was strangely subdued, Arthur noticed, and it wasn't because of the facial injuries.

"Has... has something happened?" Arthur ventured nervously.

Moody shuffled uncomfortably.

"We fetched Narcissa Malfoy from Azkaban," he rumbled. "There have been... complications."

" _Complications_?" They whirled around at the venomous voice behind them. In the open doorway stood a young woman in the blue robes of a junior Mediwitch - short, rather portly, with a long, thick black braid. Everything about her posture radiated anger, as fiercely as a dragon radiated heat.

"Doctor Parkinson," Moody acknowledged with barely disguised antipathy.

"What happened?" Arthur asked Moody in a whisper, feeling pinned like a moth on a needle under the piercing eyes of the Mediwitch.

"Yes, why don't you tell him?" Parkinson turned her death glare back on Moody. "Tell him that your... _heroes_ locked up a pregnant woman in Azkaban and nearly killed her with their _interrogation_. Or are you going to hush it up and hide behind the Protection Laws again?"

Arthur suddenly felt as cold as if a couple of Dementors had just wandered around the corner. _Oh Merlin, no!_

"Please, spare us the professional outrage," Wolfe threw in. "What about the suspect?"

The doctor gave them an ugly look. "Narcissa Malfoy is suffering from Dark Shock Syndrome. Some people - and I'm surprised I have to explain it to you after the MLE was so eager to get into bed with the Dementors - especially people with traumatic childhood experiences, are particularly vulnerable to Dementors."

Wolfe's brows furrowed.

"But-"

She cut him off rudely.

"No, I'm not trying to shelter Narcissa out of Slytherin loyalty, or because she's my friend." Her lips thinned. "But if you had bothered doing your research, you'd perhaps know that Narcissa's parents and elder brothers were slaughtered by some of Grindelwald's surviving supporters after Malachi Lemarchand had changed sides and provided Albus Dumbledore with enough information to defeat Grindelwald. When the French Aureurs arrived at Chateau Lemarchand, they came too late to save anyone but the three youngest children."

Wolfe drummed his fingers impatiently.

"Your grasp of minor historical detail is impressive, Doctor, but I fail to see how this might be relevant."

"Dark Shock Syndrome means that Narcissa Malfoy is locked inside her own mind with the memories the Dementors have dredged up. We'll be lucky if we can pull her out of it." Parkinson paused and swallowed. "Of course, she miscarried - and the damage is severe enough that any further attempt at having children is likely to kill her."

Louise McKinnon looked decidedly sick.

"If we had only _known_!" she whispered dejectedly.

The tight knot inside Arthur's chest pulled itself a little bit tighter.

"If you hadn't been so quick to put her under Imperius, she might have had the chance to tell you!"

The Auror stared at him, face scrunched up fighting the tears, then turned and fled down the corridor.

"Arthur!" Moody growled.

"Yes, let's not exaggerate this," Wolfe added carelessly. "We were well within our legal rights to act, and while any loss of life is regrettable, in this case it means one less future Death Eater-"

Parkinson's wand was out so quickly that even Moody could not grab her arm in time. Arthur, however, was faster. Before a curse could leave her lips, his fist connected with Wolfe's chin and sent him sprawling into the wall.

 _Bugger!_ Arthur thought, _That hurt!_. He'd always left the brawling - or the duelling - to Michael, but watching Wolfe's stunned expression and the angry red bruise that blossomed on his chin was extremely satisfying. _Take that, you sick, loathsome bastard,_ he mentally hissed at the other wizard.

"I'll-" The MLE official spat, mumbling slightly through a swollen jaw. "I'll have you arrested for attacking a Ministry official, Weasley!"

"I didn't see any attack," Moody told him angrily. "Just... just bugger off, Theobald, will you?"

"You'd side with a... a criminal and a Death Eater sympathiser against your own, Alastor?" Wolfe asked incredulously. "Perhaps your injuries have addled your brain!"

Moody's stony expression didn't change as he continued to stare down the furious wizard. At last, Wolfe turned with an audible hiss and stalked after McKinnon.

"He's right, Moody." Parkinson snarled as soon as he was out of earshot and pulled out of the old Auror's grip. "Why bother about the fate of one more Slytherin? We're all servants of evil anyway, right?"

She opened the door to the adjacent room. Arthur got a glimpse of a motionless figure on the bed, white face half hidden behind tangled blonde hair.

"I've worked here to repair the damages the Death Eaters have done to the magical community ever since I got out of Hogwarts," Parkinson added, very quietly. "But today, I wonder why do I even bother?"

Before Moody could respond, she had turned away. The door clicked shut behind her with a very final sound.

Moody sighed and plucked at one of the scabbed claw marks that still disfigured his face. He looked worn, and much older than before.

"Arthur..." he ventured carefully. "You did your best."

"Yes," Arthur replied flatly, the tone reflecting the chill inside him. "Pity that my best turned out to be of fuck all use in the end."

He turned and went back into Molly's room, leaving the Auror alone in the corridor.

Heavily, he slumped down into the visitor's chair and studied his wife's relaxed, sleeping face for some long minutes. Finally, he picked up baby Charlie, still swathed in his blankets, and held him gently against his chest. He rocked his newborn son in his arms, lips lightly resting on the smooth forehead, and wept.

  


~ ~ ~ *** ~ ~ ~

"You slugged Wolfe for _that_?"

Lucius' voice was calm and curious. Arthur's mouth felt dry, as if an Ashwinder had just crumbled to dust in it. He reached for the long-forgotten cup of tea on the tray and took a sip, throwing caution to the winds. The tea was stone cold, and bitter.

"You know, if you weren't under Veritaserum, I'd believe you only said that to pacify me."

"That's why I'd never have mentioned it without the serum," Arthur replied.

"Ah, yes, how could I forget about the famous Gryffindor spirit." Arthur accepted the insult with a bitter smile. They were both aware of how little he had distinguished himself as a Gryffindor in the story Lucius had just heard.

Malfoy tapped a finger against his lips thoughtfully. "But it explains why it was so ridiculously easy to slander your name at the Ministry... Crouch must have had an immense chip on his shoulder, and Wolfe...?" He grinned - a slow, vile expression that sent chills down Arthur's back. "A persistent little rodent. I think you owe me one for getting him out of your way, Arthur."

Arthur blinked in confusion. _Wolfe? I thought he eloped to America with that Salem Institute exchange student a year after You-Know-Who's defeat?_ The effect of the Veritaserum was quickly receding, leaving him with a clearer head but immensely thirsty and with a furred-over tongue. He downed the dregs of his tea - and realisation suddenly hit him.

"You killed him, didn't you?"

Lucius' grin never wavered.

"Ten points to Gryffindor. Do you know what a Lethifold is, Arthur?"

"I've done Defence Against the Dark Arts, Lucius," Arthur snapped. _With you, you condescending git_ , he added mentally.

"A creature very hard to procure, and even harder to control," Lucius mused. "It took me months to complete the rituals that would force it to do my bidding. I had to call it off Wolfe several times, otherwise it would have been over far too fast." The pale eyes locked with Arthur's. "I wanted him to be _very_ aware of why he was going to die, and who was killing him."

Arthur shuddered inwardly at the thought of being gradually suffocated and digested. He had detested Crouch's offensive right hand, but he had not deserved _that_ kind of agony. Nobody did.

"You disapprove?" Lucius asked, mocking his horror.

"Wolfe deserved to be fired from the Ministry." Arthur hissed. "Perhaps they should never have employed him. But he did _not_ deserve to die!"

"I wouldn't have expected any other response from such an upstanding, virtuous representative of Dumbledore's circle. But now that you've got your indignation off your chest, no pun intended: do you _understand_?"

Arthur stared at him as the implications of the question slowly sank in.

 _Did he understand?_

Revenge... murder... those were concepts thoroughly alien to him, acts he knew himself to be incapable of. But - having seen Narcissa Malfoy's face, first terrified out of her mind by the Dementors, then slack on a white hospital bed, and knowing what Malfoy had lost - he could not say that he didn't understand. He disapproved, most emphatically so, but yes, he understood...

Very slowly, he nodded.

"Good," Malfoy said. "Because then you'll also understand why your feeble attempts at making up for the consequences of your actions don't matter. You gave my name to the Ministry, and it caused the death of my firstborn. Because of you, my wife has never fully recovered from her trauma." His eyes held Arthur's, very cold, and very determined. "And you're here to pay."

 _And here,_ Arthur thought, _we come to the crux of the matter. For all the intricate plans he has sold You-Know-Who, this is what it all boils down to. Past wrongs. Revenge. I wonder if his 'Dark Lord' knows the extent to which he is used._

He felt the familiar guilt, but a flicker of anger beneath it made him throw Lucius' hate-filled look back in challenge.

"You're telling me nothing I haven't told myself over and over again." He noted the triumphant light in the Slytherin's eyes, which was extinguished quickly as he continued. "And yet, you're a self-righteous, ignorant hypocrite, Malfoy!"

Disbelief etched itself on Lucius' face at the words.

"Yes, the Ministry under Crouch had deteriorated into something that at times was no better than the other side it was fighting. Yes, there was no excuse for the authorisation of the Unforgivable Curses. But then," Arthur pointed out, as coldly as Lucius had spoken to him, "it was people like you who drove them to those extremes. You and your _Lord_ and your Death Eaters. Your atrocities threw them into panic, and made them strike back just as ruthlessly. And yes, I failed myself, and worse, I failed to protect your wife and your son. But did you think about them when you decided to become one of Voldemort's killers? When you murdered David Prewett?"

Arthur watched Malfoy's eyes ice over, turning into something wild and quite deadly. _Good!_

"I am sorry that Crouch and Wolfe took out their hatred for you on your wife, and yes, perhaps I deserve to pay for my role in it. But most of all, Malfoy, I am sorry because it should have been _you_!"

Arthur heard the spell whispered a second before it hit his face, thousands of icy needles freezing his skin and robbing him of breath. It was like being exposed to a raging, soundless blizzard. Tears spilled from his eyes only to immediately freeze into tiny droplets of ice, and he felt the wound on his cheek crack and break open. Pressing both hands against his face brought no warmth, but only succeeded in spreading the cold to his palms.

Malfoy watched for a long moment until satisfaction had soothed the worst of his anger, before calling the spell off.

The cold dispelled, and Arthur faintly brushed water and blood from his face.

"An impressive display of moral outrage, Arthur," Malfoy judged, his voice calm as if nothing had happened. "But you're missing the point." He leaned forward. "I. Do. Not. Care. Not about the Ministry's motives, not about Prewett, and most of all," this time very coldly, "not about _your_ motives. You wronged me. You'll pay. It's that simple."

Yes, this was a face Arthur recognised. The unproclaimed head of Slytherin house. Accepting no rule but his own and walking over the fallen bodies of those who got in the way. _Bleeding Merlin, why did I even bother?_

"Yet I think your performance shouldn't go without a reward..."

The insufferable smirk was back, and Arthur longingly considered how nice it would be to punch him, too. Which would, however, be a very bad idea.

"I've been looking forward to practising my Unforgivables a bit more," Lucius gloated. "But I'll leave you the choice between Imperius and Cruciatus." He grinned at Arthur's shocked face. "So, Arthur, what's it going to be?"

 _Merlin, no!_ Arthur hated himself for shrinking back, but he couldn't suppress the reflex. After his last experience he could barely even think of the Cruciatus Curse without shaking and breaking into a cold sweat.

And yet... he remembered how You-Know-Who's Imperius had turned him into a mindless puppet, willing to do _anything_ , and he also remembered what the curse had made people do during the Dark Lord's reign. Thinking of the pain almost made his heart stop, but Imperius... He wasn't so much afraid of humiliation - he had experienced his share of that over the years - but the thought of Lucius forcing him to kill or torture innocents was... yes, unthinkable.

"If it's my choice," he replied tiredly, "why not practice the third Unforgivable?"

Malfoy chuckled.

"I'm not that merciful. Not to mention that the Dark Lord would punish me for it. Would you want that, Arthur?"

Arthur stared back into the pale, composed face and shook his head, very seriously.

"No, Lucius. I would not want that. Cast Cruciatus, if you must."

Lucius Malfoy held his eyes for a few long seconds, just as seriously, and did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from the famous quote attributed to Edmund Burke, Irish philosopher and politician (1729-1797): "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing".
> 
> My most sincere apologies to Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Irish revolutionary (1764-1798), for borrowing his name for a rather unsavoury character.
> 
> This whole chapter was inspired by a superb student production of Arthur Miller's _The Crucible_ I saw some time ago.


	6. "The Difference Between Truth and Light"

Regaining consciousness after a second night of the Cruciatus Curse, Arthur realised as he swam back to consciousness on a wave of pain, was no better than the first time.

He was still curled on the floor in the corner into which he had crawled sometime after - or before - Lucius had let go of him. He didn't recall anything besides the omnipresence of agony. To be honest, he wasn't sure about anything but his name. Breathing hurt. Moving hurt so much that he abandoned any further attempt after trying in vain to brace himself on one arm. Hell, _thinking_ hurt.

After another couple of minutes - or hours - he managed to pull himself up onto his knees, and from there onto the cot, where he sank into another pained stupor.

When the door opened, it was far too early, and he reflexively pressed his back against the wall. _Shit, shit, shit!_ It _hurt_! And he was in no way ready to face his smiling nemesis, who strode briskly into the cell.

"My, Arthur," Lucius Malfoy announced cheerfully, "you look like hell."

 _You're not kidding!_ Arthur thought, and gratefully noted that his mental voice at least still showed a degree of defiance his physical self was unable to muster. He was aware that he had begun to shiver as soon as the door had opened. Every nerve in his body felt as if it had been turned inside out and rubbed raw. It took all he had to merely _look_ at the Dark Wizard - part of him wanted to lower his gaze to the floor in order not to give offence. He'd do _anything_ so Malfoy wouldn't curse him again.

"Come on, rise and shine as your beloved Muggles say." Lucius gave him a cursory once-over and shook his head. "Bugger, Arthur, look at you. You wouldn't last a day as a Death Eater."

"Perhaps-" Arthur croaked, before doubling up with a violent, agonising coughing fit. "Perhaps that's because I wouldn't want to be a Death Eater," he finished weakly.

Lucius sighed and threw him a vial. "Drink that," he ordered. "You're no use to me like this, and I have lots of interesting news to share." When Arthur eyed the vial that had landed on his pillow, Malfoy added coldly, "And I don't want to have the poison debate again. If I have to force you, you'll regret it. Bitterly."

Arthur took out the stopper and recognised the sharp-smelling smoke of Pepperup Potion. Oh well. He drank it down and was rewarded with a wave of warmth that first spread through his throat and stomach, and then radiated through his entire body. It was far more potent stuff than what Molly brewed in the Burrow's kitchen cauldron during cold season. Smoke hissed faintly from his ears, filling them with heat. The image seemed to amuse Malfoy. When the smoke had cleared, the Death Eater reached into his robes, drew out a rolled-up copy of the DAILY PROPHET, and flung it at Arthur.

"Congratulations! You've made the front page again."

Arthur scanned the headlines as quickly as his burning eyes allowed. A short notice at the bottom-right of the page drew his attention.

 __

INVESTIAGION COMMITTEE APPOINTED

 _Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office and instigator of the Muggle Protection Act, has been assigned head of the investigation of a freak incident that left three Aurors hospitalised with massive Confundus Spells._

 _"Details will not be released as long as investigations are pending," Mr Weasley said in a short statement to the press. "We assure the public, however, that all three victims are in good health and St Mungo's Curse Experts expect them to regain their mental faculties in less than a month."_

No mention at all of Antonin Dolohov's escape, or a Death Eater attack. _Incident, my arse,_ Arthur snorted inwardly.

"There was something to be said for Rita Skeeter," he remarked as he handed back the paper. "She'd have smelled something fishy about this from ten miles away."

"Thanks to whoever it was that scared her off her job, then," Lucius replied, practically oozing good mood. "But I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear that Dolohov has been doing an admirable job so far. He's met with your Ronald in Hogsmeade yesterday, and seems to have... persuaded... him to take the potion to slip into Potter's drink. After some... altercations, I heard."

Arthur's head jerked up. "What-"

"Oh, you know," Lucius waved his question off carelessly. "Your offspring has a reputation for temper, and sadly enough, so does Antonin. His propensity for nasty curses is legendary even among the Dark Lord's chosen, as you might remember from the fate of the late Mrs Prewett. I wouldn't worry too much, though. We still need young Master Ronald's services, so Antonin couldn't do any lasting - or visible - damage."

Rage heated Arthur's face to the point of challenging his hair colour.

"You set the monster who murdered Mandy Prewett on my family?"

He got up, hardly noticing his aching muscles, fists clenched. Even the fact that he was staring directly at the point of Malfoy's wand hardly restrained him from punching the Death Eater.

"Calm down, Arthur." Malfoy's tone was deceptively mild. "From what I hear, your family is quite safe for the moment. Antonin seems to have had not a glimpse of your work-obsessed Weatherby yet, and since your wife is at St Mungo's, he won't have a chance to insist on his marital rights any time soon. Which _could_ turn nasty, I'll admit."

"St Mungo's?" _So they've cursed Molly after all,_ Arthur thought with cold dread.

"Oh, yes," Lucius confirmed. "It seems that your Charlie had to be hospitalised for complications with his injury. From what I hear, inflammation is quite a dangerous symptom in dragon burns."

Charlie's agonised face as the nameless Death Eater touched his glowing wand to his son's burned thigh flashed before Arthur's eyes.

"You horrible, hateful bastard," he whispered, feeling helplessness crash over him like a tidal wave. "I just wish you'd gone to Azkaban years ago. If anybody deserves it, it's you."

Lucius pondered him with narrowed eyes.

"And you did your very best to send me there, didn't you, Arthur? But your best is rarely good enough, isn't it?"

Oh yes, Arthur remembered. Watching Malfoy walk away a free wizard after his trial had been one of the most painful experiences of his life. Responsibility, retribution, justice - when it came to Malfoy, it seemed that all standards of right and wrong just ceased to apply...

* * *

It took a week for the wizarding world to recover from the happiest day it had seen in decades. The downfall of You-Know-Who had occurred on an ordinary Monday, and the celebrations didn't die down for days. The subsequent Monday found Arthur Weasley in the spacious but dreary Storage Chamber of the Department of Illegal Enchantments with both hands clamped around the brim of a large, pearl-grey bowler hat. A matching silk umbrella lay next to it, wrapped tightly in its cover and bound with additional cords.

"At least the umbrella only sings French chansons," Mafalda Hopkirk, the doe-eyed junior registrar sighed. "But that hat..."

"I know," Arthur blushed slightly. "It's incredible, the things people think of casting the Lewd Limerick Hex on." Inwardly, he wondered what had sent the elderly Muggle gentleman into hospital with a heart flutter - the fact that his new bowler was _talking_ , or the nature of the rhymes it had been spouting.

He crushed the brim of the hat against his chest, ears burning. Still, the presence of the pretty registrar was certainly preferable to sitting in his own office at the moment, where his colleague Perkins was still suffering from the previous week's revelries. The man's eyes hadn't lost their shade of red for days, and his slow, abrupt shuffle reminded Arthur of a pecking chicken under the Confundus Curse. Even Bartemius Crouch, the stern head Magical Law Enforcement, had ignored the goings on at the Ministry, provided his Aurors stayed sober and in something resembling working order. Arthur looked forward to Perkins recovering enough to cast a Hangover-Begone Charm on himself without nailing his ears to the wall in the process. Or Arthur's, for that matter, whenever he tried to Summon his coffee cup...

So when the heavy doors burst open suddenly, his first thought was that Perkins had finally hexed himself into oblivition by accident and he was wanted to help cover it up. In sped, however, young Abernathy Spudmore, the DIE's desk clerk.

"Mafalda!" Noticing Arthur, he amended, "Miss Hopkirk. Oh - morning, Arthur." He gallivanted over to them, obviously annoyed about not having caught the pretty witch alone. But then his news seemed to burn on his tongue too badly not to blurt it out.

"Have you heard? Lucius Malfoy just turned himself in."

Arthur's heart stopped for a moment. It couldn't be!

He was glad young Abernathy was too busy ogling Mafalda Hopkirk's obvious assets to pay any attention to his reaction.

"Malfoy?" he asked sharply.

"Yes!" the DIE clerk continued. "Walked right into the Minister's aide's office, cool as you please, and gave himself up. Old Man Crockford said he never saw Fudge so flabbergasted. Of course, they called the Aurors and took him away straight off."

Mafalda gasped and put a hand to her mouth. Abernathy looked desperate to pat her other hand, but couldn't seem to work up the courage.

"Yes, Azkaban of course," he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant and failing. "I guess that with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gone and his right hand man Black in Azkaban, he reckoned he didn't have a chance."

Mafalda fiddled with the enchanted umbrella on the table. "So what do they say will happen to him?"

"Well..." Abernathy leaned against the desk and made a sweeping gesture that looked like it was intended to be impressive, but made him look like Chlodwig the Clumsy dropping his wand. "From what I _happened_ to overhear in the MLE corridor, dropping off department memos-"

 _You snuck in and eavesdropped for all it was worth,_ Arthur translated to himself.

"- Mr Crouch and Mad-Eye Moody seemed happy to throw him into a cell in Azkaban and lose the key, like they did with that monster Black."

"Terrible!" Mafalda shuddered. "And he always seemed so... dashing. Half of the girls in my year used to cut out every article about him in _Witch Weekly_..."

Arthur rolled his eyes, handed the dented bowler to Abernathy and tipped his pointed hat to Mafalda. She blushed and giggled, which drew a dark look from Spudmore. Arthur smirked and left.

The dim, dusty DIE dungeon felt much more cheery when he made his way back to his office. Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban - the world was suddenly a much brighter - and safer - place. Perhaps this _was_ the beginning of a new era at last, one where they would again have the luxury to worry about things like Lewd Limerick Hexes...

...

Two months later, Arthur was more than ready to eat that thought. It seemed, he sighed as he entered the lift to go down to the DIE dungeon once again, that he'd spent enough time down there lately to make people believe he'd been permanently transferred.

Broderick Bode, who joined him on the first underground level, gave the cardboard box in Arthur's hands a curious glance after the metal grilles had clanged shut behind them.

"More insulting enchantments?" he asked.

Arthur shrugged and lifted the lid of the box a fraction.

"Bitch!", "Bastard!", "Bad Wizard!" the set of teacups inside chattered, making rude gestures at Bode with their porcelain handles.

As an Unspeakable, Bode had likely seen worse; he eyed the offensive china with a vaguely revolted expression.

"Perkins still has the matching teapot - wolf-whistling through its snout and offering to do unspeakable things to your mother..."

"Disgusting," Bode commented. "I hope you'll catch up with the culprit soon."

Arthur got out on the dungeon level and carried his clattering box through the cobwebbed corridors towards the DIE storeroom. He walked up to the reception desk and set the box down, craning his neck to see Abernathy Spudmore or Mafalda Hopkirk. Nothing. At last he began to look around, and found Abernathy slouched on the sole chair of his tiny cubicle, head bowed and looking like he was fighting tears. Arthur waited a moment for the clerk to notice him, but his head never rose.

"Spudmore?" he finally asked. "Are you all right?"

After a moment the younger man looked up and gave Arthur a pathetic, red-rimmed stare.

"They took Mafalda," he whispered.

"Miss Hopkirk? Who 'took' her? Death Eaters?" He couldn't believe it - not even the most nervous Dark Wizard would feel threatened by as harmless a creature as Hopkirk.

"Magical Law Enforcement." Abernathy buried his head in his hands again. "They asked her up this morning, and the next thing I heard was that she'd tried to kill an Auror." He mangled an innocent piece of parchment between his fingers. "I don't believe it! Mafalda, a Death Eater!"

It was, Arthur had to agree, a truly mind-boggling image. He reached out to pat Spudmore's shoulder gingerly.

"Look - Abernathy - I'll just leave you the cups, and see if I can find out anything-"

He was interrupted by the sound of the handbell on the desk outside, followed by a shrill voice.

"Boy! Ye've got Arthur down here?"

Arthur shoved the box at the distraught clerk and stuck his head out of the cubicle.

"Over here, Perkins."

"Pardon fer interrupting, Arthur," Perkins wheezed. "But there's Mad-Eye kickin' up a bloody fuss in the fireplace up at the office. D'ye want me to tell him yer busy?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Did he say what it's about?" he asked, dreading the thought that the insulting enchantments business had spread to involve Magical Law Enforcement.

Perkins shook his head.

"Jus' that he wants ye up at MLE."

"Tell him I'll be at his office shortly."

Arthur watched Perkins slouch off and wondered what Moody might be calling about. He hadn't seen the man in weeks. The Aurors were busy apprehending and interrogating suspects in the fallout of You-Know-Who's defeat, and Moody, predictably, was in the very thick of it.

He looked down at Spudmore once more.

"I'll have to be off - but perhaps I can find out what's going on with Miss Hopkirk up at Magical Law Enforcement. Perk up, will you? I'm sure it's been a mistake."

With that meagre bit of consolation, he made his way up to Magical Law Enforcement.

...

Arthur paused in front of the door to Alastor Moody's office and eyed it apprehensively. It was so heavily warded that the wood almost glowed, and the scowling doorknob actually sported a twin set of needle-sharp vampire teeth. He touched it, very gingerly.

The knob glared at him and hissed.

"Who're you and what's the password?"

"Arthur Weasley. Alastor is expecting me. The password is 'Vigilance'." The doorknob snapped at him and actually grazed his little finger as he jerked away.

"That was last month! Intruder! Dark Wizard! Death Eater!"

The door flew open and out stormed Moody, wand drawn and curses ready.

Arthur put his hands up. "It's just me, Alastor!"

He felt Moody's terrifying artificial eye bore right into him. The old Auror's wand never wavered.

"C'me in, Arthur."

Arthur walked into the room, only to find one more wand aimed at him. It belonged to a young Hit Wizard Arthur had never seen before. A series of purplish bruises mottled the left side of the young man's head, garishly obvious in spite of his dark skin.

The office itself was chaotic, to say the least. Strips of parchment littered carpet, drawers and tables. The mess was worse towards the corners, as if a Sweeping Charm had already taken care of the worst. The place looked a bit as if it had been showered with the paper garlands Muggles used to decorate for parties - corsetti, or whatever they were called. But Arthur doubted there was a connection. None of the room's occupants looked the least bit festive.

"Alastor?" Arthur asked with a twinge of alarm, but Moody didn't look at him.

Behind the Auror's desk was a middle-aged witch Arthur with a severe crewcut whom Arthur knew only by name - Amelia Bones, Crouch's deputy. She'd sat as one of the Interrogators at Arthur's father's trial, and had been the only one to move for his acquittal. Arthur wasn't likely to forget that. Bones' presence actually helped check his worst apprehensions - much as he respected Moody, the old Auror had taken a distinct turn for the paranoid in recent years, and being held at wandpoint by him and a befuddled junior wizard wasn't reassuring.

"Gimme your wand, Arthur," Moody said.

"What?" Arthur snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Why? Am I under arrest? What for?"

Amelia Bones raised her hand. "Please, Mr Weasley, it's just a precaution, and one we have good reason for, I assure you."

Arthur exhaled audibly and produced his wand from his robe pocket. He noted that both wizards were gripping their own wands tighter as he handed it to Moody.

"Is this about Miss Hopkirk?" he inquired.

"What makes you think that?" Moody shot back.

"Perhaps the fact that her admirer Spudmore just told me she'd been accused of attacking one of your men?" Arthur didn't even try to keep the sarcasm out of his tone as he inclined his head to the bruised Hit Wizard. The youngster's face flushed even darker with embarrassment.

Moody snorted. "I _told_ that Spudmore kid to mind his own bloody business when he had the nerve to firecall the Department. Always snooping around, gossiping and spying. Perhaps we should have a closer look at _him_..."

"Please, Alastor," Bones interrupted Moody's harangue. "Let's focus on the matter at hand, shall we?" She turned to Arthur. "Please, take a seat."

Arthur sat gingerly on the hardwood armchair in front of the desk. As soon as his back touched the chair, a number of bright-blue cords shot out of the armrests and wrapped themselves around his wrists and torso. A flush of fury left its telltale heat in his cheeks, and it was all he could do not to struggle against the bonds.

"I just hope you have a _really_ good explanation for this!"

He couldn't keep a nervous edge out of his voice. Sure, he hadn't broken any law he was aware of, and he hadn't even had time to tinker with his Muggle artefacts - baby Ginny had been born only two months before You-Know-Who's defeat. His clash with Crouch was nine years in the past, and so far the man's vengefulness had been fully occupied with the Dark wizards he was hunting. Still, they had to have _something_ on him to treat him like this...

"We do." Moody walked around the chair to lean against the side of the desk. "Last night, we arrested Augustus Rookwood as a Death Eater."

The Auror leaned forward to peer at Arthur's face intently as he imparted his news.

 _Oh mercy, no!_

Arthur shut his eyes tightly for a moment. Somewhere in the most hidden depths of his mind, he'd always feared that he might hear something like this someday. He'd tried to bury the thought, had scolded himself for his Moody-like paranoia, but it had never gone away completely.

Rookwood, who'd all but single-handedly brought Arthur into the Ministry when no-one else had been willing to give him the time of day.

Rookwood, the first person Arthur had ever approached with his suspicions about Malfoy, and who'd sworn it couldn't be true.

Rookwood, whose loyalty he had suspected after Malfoy turned out to be a Death Eater after all...

But there hadn't been any proof, and he'd seen firsthand what unfounded accusations could do to a person in times like these. He'd held his peace, and now...

"You don't seem very surprised, Arthur," Moody observed.

Images of truth potions and Dementors danced before Arthur's inner eye, and his hands started to tremble.

"I already knew there was trouble when I came up," he answered. "I thought it was Hopkirk, though... Rookwood! I'd never have expected _that_."

 _When did you become such an accomplished liar?_ he marvelled, torn between shame and relief at his Slytherinesque quick thinking.

To Arthur's relief, Moody's intense scrutiny seemed to lessen when he received a coherent answer. The Auror banged his fist on the table in rage, but it wasn't directed at Arthur.

"Neither did we! And he was in a prime position - handing over Ministry strategies and names of potential targets to bloody Voldemort, twisting our investigations away from the right people, and turning employees into spies!"

Bones rubbed her temple. Looking more closely, Arthur noted that she had dark rings under her eyes, and that her work robes were dusty.

"You see, Mr Weasley, we acquired Augustus Rookwood's name from one of his former... associates," she explained, "together with a warning that Rookwood had used his position to establish a spy network throughout the Ministry - he's conducted numerous job interviews, and is an expert on the use of Imperius, according to our source."

"Malfoy?" Arthur asked reflexively.

Moody snorted. "Funny you should mention _him_. But no, the one we're talking about is an even sleazier critter, if that's at all possible. Would give away anyone to get out of Azkaban, that one..."

"After arresting Augustus Rookwood last night," Amelia Bones took up the story again, "we immediately started to interview everybody he brought into the Ministry. Mafalda Hopkirk was one - you're another."

"And it's been a debacle from start to finish," Moody threw in angrily. "Some bloody idiot called up Rookwood's assistant Gesius Flint sometime last night, and of course set off the Imperius trigger right away. Flint cast the Exsanguinus Curse on the Knockturn Alley kid who warmed his bed, and then he burned all the paperwork he'd collected at home before blowing himself up together with his flat." His magical eye rotated wildly. "We've been wading through rubble and body parts all morning."

Arthur shuddered. Those people could still be alive if he had spoken up that fateful day. It was a failure he'd have to live with for the rest of his life. And to feel such relief over the fact that he'd not been found out - what did that say about him?

Moody pointed at the Hit Wizard, oblivious to Arthur's self-recriminations.

"The young ones like Shacklebolt here started with the interrogation of those who'd been hand-picked by the bastard first thing this morning. After the first two turned out negative, that Hopkirk girl showed up looking as harmless as a baby Niffler. They never even took her wand. It took her two seconds with a standard Permanent Shredding Jinx to tear every scrap of paper in my office to shreds, and then she went for Shacklebolt's head..." He threw a death glare at his subordinate.

"If I didn't keep extra copies of the important files in a safe place, I'd have killed the two idiots myself - and I'd have done a better job at it than that girl. He should be glad that Fragmentarium was the worst hex she knew, and that her aim was horrid," Moody said, and Shacklebolt hung his head in shame. "If she'd known how to cast Avada Kedavra, the careless sod would be toast now!"

"So she was under Imperius?" Arthur asked. "Poor girl."

Moody hrumped, and Arthur saw Bones raising her eyes to the ceiling delicately.

"Perhaps we should assure Mr Weasley that nothing untoward has happened to the young woman, Alastor? And call in Alice to do a surface probe on him, just to make sure?"

The Auror walked over to the back door and threw it open. Behind it lay another, larger office. On one of the threadbare sofas sat Mafalda Hopkirk, sobbing and with tangled hair. Her hands were still tied in her lap with the same blue spellcords that restrained Arthur. Beside her stood a round-faced young witch who spoke to her in calm, low tones.

"Alice!" Moody called out to her. "Can you abandon the girl for a moment?" He gave Hopkirk a none-too-friendly side glance, which provoked a fresh burst of tears.

"Will you stop giving the poor girl the evil eye, Moody?" 'Alice' snapped. "It wasn't her fault!"

Frowning sideways at the Auror, she followed him into the office and closed the door.

"I've done what I could for her," she said and accepted a goblet of pumpkin juice that Bones conjured for her. "The rest is up to the Spell Damage squad at St Mungo's." She took another sip. "She's terribly distraught and confused, the poor thing. She's always been delicate - I used to tutor her and some other juniors in Defence at Hogwarts - and now this... I guess a transfer to a less excitable department would be best as soon as she's regained her wits - the House-Elf Re-Allocation Bureau, or Underage Magic, perhaps."

"Mm, yes - if they decide to keep her on after the investigation," Moody replied, receiving another stern look. "Can you give Arthur here a once-over as well?" He nodded at Arthur. "Alice is our Charms whizz - left Hogwarts with the highest NEWT since my generation." His expression darkened for a moment, and Arthur wondered who he'd been thinking of.

The young woman walked up to Arthur's chair, produced a wand from one of her robe sleeves, and gave him a kind smile. As Arthur returned it, amused by the deft way she'd handled Moody, he realised how many of the MLE personnel were strangers to him - he knew that Crouch had lost Aurors and Hit Wizards left and right in the last years before You-Know-Who fell, but seeing it firsthand brought home the awful reality of it.

"Try to relax and clear your mind as much as possible," she advised. "I'm going to probe for surface Imperius traces - it might sting a bit."

Arthur gave a nervous laugh. Could it be? Had he kept his suspicions quiet because he'd been under Imperius, or a Memory Charm? He didn't think so. For that particular failure, he'd only himself to blame.

"I'll try." He kept his mind as blank as he could, and balled his hands into fists until his fingers trembled, trying to keep his thoughts - and most importantly his memories - hidden.

When the spell hit him, it was awash in pink light and felt as if she was actually trying to pull out his brains through his nasal cavity. He moaned in pain and threw his head from one side to the other, pulling on the cords that bound him to the chair.

"I'm sorry," he heard her voice through the pounding in his head when the spell was finally gone. "Finite!"

The magical restraints fell away, and a handkerchief was pressed into his hand. He felt wetness on his upper lip and pressed the cloth to his bleeding nose.

"I'm sorry," Alice repeated, looking contrite. She touched her wand to his temple and executed a Headache-Begone Charm with a skill Perkins would have coveted.

"It looks like you're clear of influence, Mr Weasley, although only a full security examination at St Mungo's will establish that with certainty," Bones stated. "But I've been authorised to offer you-"

The back door banged open again and a wizard stuck his head in with an agonised expression.

"Amelia, it's the girl again, wailing like an uprooted Mandrake - I just can't get her to calm down."

Bones ran a hand through her short brown hair and sighed. "I'll be there in a moment - just let me get Barty to substitute." She got up and closed the door behind her.

Arthur cocked a questioning eyebrow at Moody, and the Auror seemed to feel sufficiently guilty to reply.

"Her little niece, Susan. Guess you've heard how that Death-Eating scum murdered her brother Edgar and his family?"

Arthur nodded. It had made the headlines in a spectacular fashion, the last big Death Eater attack on a wizarding family before the Potters.

"Well, they just had time to shove the baby into a broom closet before the killers came down on them - Bones died along with his wife and two older children that day." He picked at his scarred nose. "Kid's a real survivor - if she hadn't been so quiet..."

He fell silent when Bones reappeared in the doorway, Bartemius Crouch in tow. Crouch's cold eyes scanned the room, hardening a fraction when they fell on Arthur. He paused and turned back to Bones.

"Amelia, have you thought about taking some time off?" he asked her. "Not that anyone _minds_ Susan here, but today's events have shown how dangerous it can be."

"As opposed to the safety of sitting at home when the Death Eaters come calling?" she shot back. "No, Barty - you won't get rid of me until the last of those pieces of-" she paused, "- of _them_ is in Azkaban!"

She walked out into the corridor without giving Crouch a chance to reply. Crouch sighed and took her seat behind the desk.

"Told you so," Moody commented.

"Mr Weasley," Crouch finally acknowledged. "No compulsion to do damage to yourself or others after being informed of Rookwood's arrest?"

"No, sir," Arthur answered.

"I didn't expect it myself," Crouch admitted. "If you had been under Rookwood's control, he'd never have allowed you to expose Malfoy."

"Well," Moody threw in, "considering the degree of Death Eater infighting we've uncovered, there still was a possibility..."

"Negligible," Crouch commented with a touch of exasperation. "Did Rookwood ever give you the feeling that he might be trying to recruit you to Lord Voldemort's cause, Mr Weasley?"

Arthur flinched at the name, and shook his head reflexively. He'd never even vaguely entertained the thought of joining the Dark side, not even on that night after his father's trial when he'd-

He killed the thought as soon as it popped into his head, immediately and fearfully. What if they had one of those mind-reading charms that the Department of Mysteries was rumoured to have developed? Considering Moody's paranoia, if it existed, he'd have it.

"I don't think so," he answered slowly. "He was an acquaintance of my father's, and said he wanted to help me because he didn't think Father had been treated fairly."

Crouch frowned. "It was _not_ a time when a major infraction of wizarding law was to be taken lightly, Mr Weasley. It would have sent out all the wrong messages to the public. So Augustus Rookwood might have been playing on your latent dissatisfaction with Magical Law Enforcement?"

"Oh, I don't know," Arthur said. "Mandy Prewett said just the same half an hour before her death, so disagreement with that particular ruling might have been more common than you think." He didn't try to keep the venom out of his voice.

"I'm not here to discuss ancient legal cases with you, Mr Weasley," Crouch pronounced, coldly enough to show Arthur that he'd probably hit a mark. "Be that as it may, we have asked you here for another reason besides checking to see if Rookwood had tampered with you." He rose. "Mr Moody will fill you in on the details." He walked over to the door, and then turned, one hand on the doorknob. "And I'd advise you to consider his proposal seriously - if you're willing to assist us, we're prepared to waive the customary security checks. And you're certainly aware of how... protracted those can be."

Oh yes, Arthur remembered from his father's trial - temporary suspension without payment while the verdict was pending, interviews, truth potion, rumours...

"I'm sure you and Alastor can come to a mutually beneficial agreement," Crouch threw over his shoulder before closing the door behind him. "You usually do."

"What was _that_ about?" Arthur glared at the door.

"Wasn't my idea, Arthur," Moody said with as guilty an expression as his scarred face allowed. "But Barty - he's a very proud wizard, and very protective of his reputation. After the way you crossed him over Malfoy's wife..." He held up a hand to forestall Arthur's angry reply. "I'm not saying you didn't have a point then. But Barty would hate to look like he's asking you for a favour - he'd rather make himself believe he's bullied you into helping us."

"Helping you with _what_ , for Merlin's sake?" Arthur yelled.

"Putting Malfoy away for good," the Auror replied. "And I don't think you'll need much convincing to do that."

...

Half an hour after this revelation, Arthur sat in the MLE's tiny visitor's lounge and tried to accommodate his too-long legs on a smallish chair. Moody had left him with a lukewarm mug of tea laced with Head-Soothing Potion and a promise to be back in a moment. Arthur took the fact that he'd been trusted to wait alone as a sign that he was indeed removed from the immediate list of Imperius suspects.

When Moody returned, he was accompanied by the young Auror who'd been overtaxed by Amelia Bones' baby niece, and by a tall woman with a travelling cloak and a broomstick. She pulled back her hood, and Arthur stared in astonishment at Professor Minerva McGonagall.

He was even more startled when she rushed over to him and pulled him into a tight embrace. He blushed, and received a wry smile when she let go of him and took a step back.

"I'm so glad you're... yourself. When Frank told me that _you_ might be one of Rookwood's victims, it gave me quite a fright."

Moody pulled up a shaggy eyebrow and shook his head.

"Longbottom, you're aware about the need for vigilance? Constant vigilance?"

The young Auror nodded eagerly.

"Are you also aware that _secrecy_ is a major part of vigilance?"

Longbottom flushed, almost as spectacularly as Arthur in his worst moments, and nodded. McGonagall chuckled, and Arthur took her hand.

"Thank you, Professor. It's good to see you again."

"Please, Arthur, call me Minerva. We've known each other too long for formalities."

"Gladly," he replied. He remembered Billy falling desperately in love with the professor's Animagus form during their refuge at Hogwarts, which had resulted in him dubbing her 'kitty' for the rest of their stay, to the veiled amusement of the rest of the staff.

"Now, enough small talk," Moody rumbled. "D'you have the stuff, Minerva?" McGonagall - no, Minerva, Arthur corrected himself - pulled a small wad of paper out of her travel cloak and prodded it with her wand. It Engorged into an armful of parchment files, bound tightly with state of the art Goblin Hands-Off-Or-Loose-Your-Claws security cord.

"Good!" Moody patted it. "This, Arthur, is what that Death Eater scum was hoping to get rid of - proof to finally convict Malfoy and many of his fellows."

"That's the third time you've mentioned him." Arthur frowned. "I thought he was locked away for good, like Black, because there was no doubt about his guilt?"

"That was when everybody was still in shock after the Black massacre," Moody spat, holding his files in a death grip. "But this time it definitely looks like there's going to be a trial. Narcissa Malfoy and her brothers have been petitioning Minister Bagnold just about daily - the last thing I heard was that they hired some hotshot Legiwizard to stir up trouble with the International Office of Magical Law."

"Andrea Zabini," said Longbottom, looking happy to have something to contribute at last. "I just found out today."

"Zabini?" Moody stared. "Of the Nimbus Broom Company?"

"The younger son," Longbottom explained and pulled a small parchment note out of his pocket. "One of the world's top Legiwizards, a graduate from the Genoan School of Magical Law. His father and older brother run the Nimbus Company, and are in business with the Lemarchand family - they supply Dervish & Banges with broom collectibles. Narcissa Malfoy must have asked her brothers to pull some substantial favours."

Moody looked as if he was about to go into conniptions.

"Just what we need! Barty is adamant about Malfoy's imprisonment being lawful under the Emergency Protection Act even without trial. But I've heard Bagnold's aide Fudge is already making outraged noises about Magical Law Enforcement going out of control, and if Bagnold gets additional heat from the International Office she's going to put her foot down - you know how she can be."

Arthur nodded. Millicent 'Old Bag' Bagnold seemed to grow ever more paranoid with age, and with the disappearance of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named her main worry was the threat of being ousted from office by the charismatic head of Magical Law Enforcement. Which, Arthur thought to himself, was perhaps not altogether that far-fetched. It was an open secret among Ministry employees how much Bartemius Crouch coveted the position.

"And the Rookwood business is grist to their mills," Moody added. "Unless we're going to lock up everybody Rookwood put Imperius on, it'll make Malfoy's defence all the more credible. You've heard the details, Arthur?"

"Only that he walked into Fudge's office and was arrested."

"A brilliant move, that," Minerva interjected.

"Oh yeah," Moody agreed, disgust pulling his scarred face into a hideous scowl. "You know Fudge - anyone with a shred of authority will bowl him over like a set of Gobstones." He looked at Arthur. "He told Fudge he'd been put under Imperius by bloody You-Know-Who and had only managed to shake it off after the bastard's fall - sorry, Minerva. Said he wanted to stand trial for his crimes. Crimes that just happen to include him putting Imperius on a handful of other Death Eaters in turn, who again just happen to be his old school friends."

Arthur rubbed his receding hairline.

"I _saw_ him when he killed David!" he snapped. "An Imperius victim doesn't _gloat_ like that."

Moody snorted.

"'Course not. And Malfoy's made his views on Muggles and Muggleborns clear enough, right down to funding the Society for the Reclassification of Muggles; the bastard - s'cuse me, Minerva - is as power-hungry as all get out. I'm sure Malfoy didn't even wait for You-Know-Who to approach him - he probably asked to join himself!"

"I know," Arthur said. "But why are you telling _me_ all this?"

Moody grinned, which looked scary enough to chase off a herd of Veela.

"Because if there's going to be a trial, you're going to testify against him."

Arthur gulped.

"Alastor, no! You can't ask that of me again," he protested. "If it were just me, I'd not even think twice, but I have a family now - a large family. My youngest is only four months old!"

Moody frowned. "I know that, Arthur. But we _need_ you - there's no other reliable witness who saw the bastard kill and lived to tell the tale."

Arthur shook his head - Moody had no family, he just didn't understand.

"Alastor, after the _last_ time I told the MLE about Malfoy we had to hide in Hagrid's hut for half a year, and then another year at my brother's two room flat until some joker Exploded it and cast the Dark Mark above. It was sheer dumb luck that Billy came down with a touch of dragon pox that afternoon and we were all at St Mungo's to get our shots, so it only killed my brother's pet Dragonette."

Moody opened his mouth, but Arthur poked his finger at him.

"And then for the _next_ three years we overstayed our welcome with Molly's crazy brother so badly that he finally decided an impending twin birth was a death omen and threw us out. Even Molly's Squib cousin wouldn't take us after that. And I don't think I slept peacefully at the Burrow for one night until little Harry Potter defeated Voldemort." He took a deep breath and glowered at Moody, who looked as if he was about to interrupt. "There are still Death Eaters about, and if Malfoy is locked away on _my_ testimony-"

He shuddered, imagining the Dark Mark over the crumbled ruins of the Burrow and green light speeding towards a wailing Ginny in her crib.

Moody put a hand on his arm and, with some effort, fixed both his good and his roving artificial eye on him.

"We _need_ you," he repeated. "And you'll have all the protection Magical Law Enforcement can provide, for you _and_ your family. And I know you'll sleep safer knowing Malfoy is not out on the streets again and free to come after you."

Arthur looked at the ground. As much as the thought of putting his family at risk twisted his guts, he knew the danger would be infinitely greater with Malfoy out of Azkaban. There really was no choice.

"Well, if you see no other way..." he answered reluctantly. "But I _really_ want some Ministry-issue wards on the Burrow, and _before_ that trial starts!"

"Done!" Moody let out a deep breath and turned to Minerva. "You've spoken to Albus - will the old geezer be helping?"

The Deputy Headmistress rose and drew her cloak tightly around her body.

"No, Alastor. He considers it unethical to testify on the character of a former student. And he's determined to keep to Hogwarts as much as possible. You know the press have been hounding him to put himself forward as Minister of Magic once Bagnold retires, and the less he appears in public, the less they'll be after him. And I don't think Crouch would be too enthusiastic if he got involved..."

Moody snorted. "Right! And now get out of here, all of you. I've got work to do."

...

Even though it took several weeks to roll around, the day of the trial still came too early for Arthur's liking. He was abysmally nervous about having to face Malfoy, even in a courtroom. Over the last weeks, he'd spent far too much time brooding about the Prewetts' deaths and all that had followed.

The familiar din in the Burrow's kitchen was calming, though. Little Ronnie was perched precariously on Molly's lap, gobbling down apple-pumpkin mash. Percy was busy fighting off the twins as they tried to get hold of his new - if decidedly battered - pet rat at the other end of the table. Charlie devoured a plate of scrambled eggs, toast and sausage, valiantly ignoring everybody else. Billy was chewing on a piece of toast, studying with rapt attention the pages of _Gluff the Kneazle and his Friends_ that was tucked inside the homework he was supposed to be checking.

There was no noise from upstairs, so Arthur judged that the Silencing Charm he'd put on the kitchen to spare baby Ginny the morning racket was working.

"Fred, George, leave Percy's poor rat alone," he called over to the twins. "It doesn't like to be dangled by its tail."

"I'll call him Scabbers," Percy announced and protectively dropped the squirming rodent into his jumper.

"It fits," said Billy, and while Percy might not have grasped the pun, he understood the tone and opened his mouth to let out an ear-splitting wail.

"Now, Billy," Molly interrupted, "don't put down Percy's poor rat. And Scabbers is a nice name, dear," she added in Percy's direction, who miraculously transformed his screwed-up face into a smile.

"It has only three legs," Billy argued. "I wish we could have a Kneazle," he said with a longing look at his book.

"Or a Dragonette, like Uncle Bilius," Charlie piped up with his mouth full.

Arthur sighed quietly. His mother had always kept Kneazles right up to the her death, and he'd be glad to have one if his paycheck wasn't just enough to put food on the table and to pay for Billy's and Charlie's Tutoring. He feared that Molly would have to teach the younger children at home; there were just not enough Galleons to send them all to Hogwarts Preparation School.

The twins poked out their tongues at Percy in unison, bounded over to Arthur and crawled onto his lap.

He was about to reach over their fiery heads to grab a piece of toast for himself when the doorknob yelped.

"Probably Longbottom," he called to Molly, and plucked the two protesting three-year-olds off him. Alastor Moody had promised he was going to send his young Auror over to improve the defences of the Burrow before they went to London.

He peered out of the window, recognised Longbottom's round face, and opened the door.

"Morning Frank. Come in. I hope you like children."

Longbottom smiled shyly.

"Oh, yes, our Neville is almost two now, and we're thinking about another one in a year or two." He looked slightly wistfully. "I really don't see him enough - first Black, then Rookwood, and now this infernal Malfoy business... my mother takes care of him more often than not."

Arthur introduced him to Molly, who offered him a piece of toast that he gratefully accepted.

"My wife told me that you've been handling Moody's interrogation far more gracefully than many others, Arthur," he remarked, munching.

"Your wife?"

"Alice," Longbottom said with a smile. "She was quite impressed with you."

"I still snapped at him," Arthur confessed.

Longbottom grinned at that.

"Well, some others went through a full-scale screaming fit involving your standard 'the Minister will hear of this and you'll be booted out of the Ministry, you brute' routine."

Arthur couldn't help but grin imagining how _that_ would have gone over with Moody.

"So, rumour has it that your enchanted Muggle items problem seems to have resolved itself?"

Arthur nodded, keeping his face purposefully innocent. It bloody well better should have!

He'd captured the culprit, the guilty wand in hand, in a Muggle antiques shop only a few streets from the Leaky Cauldron, enchanting a French Portico Clock to declaim bawdy lines from Malecrit's _Collected Plays_. The villain had turned out to be one Willy Widdershins, fresh out of Hogwarts with two OWLs - in Charms and History of Magic, unsurprisingly.

The story Arthur had extracted from the youth among a stream of filthy language had made him sigh. The boy's mother, a procurer of Non-Tradable Goods in Knockturn Alley, had just been sentenced to ten years in Azkaban for purveying illegal materials to Death Eaters. Arthur knew only too well that Willa Widdershins had likely dealt with a variety of other patrons as well, among them probably some of the most upstanding members of wizarding society. It didn't make her a follower of You-Know-Who, just a terrible judge of customers. But she'd been caught in the wrong company, and had paid the price.

So her son had gone out into the world with a rabid hatred for Magical Law Enforcement, with no hope of any kind of employment, and with just enough brains to take on the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office as the most humble and seemingly toothless of all the branches in the MLE.

As far as Arthur was concerned, he'd probably been right with that estimate.

"Yes," he answered Longbottom lightly, "I guess we've scared him off with our scrutiny and our Spyspells in most of the pawnshops and antiques stores in the Greater London Area."

Bringing in Widdershins might have finally got him the salary raise he needed so badly, Arthur knew, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it. In the current climate, and with the young goon's history, a charge of simple Muggle-Baiting might suddenly turn into 'Acts of Terrorism Intended to Express Solidarity with the Goals of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. Widdershins would much deserve a heavy fine and a temporary wand-revocation instead of the stern lecture Arthur had given him, but he did _not_ deserve to find himself in Azkaban with his mother...

Longbottom had wolfed down the toast and took a second piece that Molly Accioed for him over Ron's little red head. He bit off a corner, and gave Arthur another shy side glance.

"I'm sorry that we're asking you to do this," he murmured, his eyes wandering over the children. "It must be hard on you, taking such a risk. If only Minister Bagnold hadn't caved in to Fudge and Zabini." He pulled a face. "Mr Crouch would not have been so easily swayed by public opinion."

Personally, Arthur could do without either of them; Bagnold was close to senility, and Crouch's single-minded fanaticism often outweighed his better judgement. An objective, honourable man like, say, Albus Dumbledore would be a much better choice. He wasn't foolish enough to mention that to one of Crouch's circle, though, no matter how friendly Longbottom was being.

The Auror obviously took his silence for agreement and wiped his hands on the seam of his robe.

"Now, let's have a look at those wards Alastor was so unhappy about," he grinned.

Arthur led him over to the wall and watched the young man at his work. His face was focused in concentration, his insecurity and bumbling manner seeming to vanish as soon as he was working magic. The subdued wards shone for a moment in a bright, cheerful orange, before fading back into the walls of the Burrow. The younger man put his wand away and looked at his handiwork with a critical eye.

"That should do. I've invoked Cliodna's Shield on the outer walls, so if you start to hear Whizbees humming during the night, give me a firecall and I'll come back to fine-tune it. I did it in my mother's house once, and the sound almost drove her to distraction."

Longbottom was quite a powerful wizard, Arthur realised with surprise. His shyness had almost led him to forget that he came from a very old and respectable wizarding family.

"Thanks!" he said with heartfelt gratitude.

"Ready to go?" Longbottom asked, tucking his wand back into his belt.

 _No!_ Arthur thought. _I'd never be ready, but this has to happen. We'll all be safer once Malfoy is properly convicted and locked away for good!_

* * * 

The trial was scheduled to take place in the Halls of Wizarding Justice, Courtroom Ten, in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement wing of the Ministry. The oppressive atmosphere of the cavernous hall left Arthur immensely grateful that his father's trial had been too minor to have taken place here.

The places reserved for the Wizengamot, distinguished by purple satin upholstery instead of plain wooden seats, occupied the front tier of benches facing the entrance. To the left and right of it, the Defence and Prosecution Benches opposed each other, and between them stood the high-backed prisoner's chair. Chains dangled from the arms, creeping over the hard wood in greedy anticipation.

Arthur shuddered.

Longbottom led him over to the row of seats immediately behind the Prosecution. Alastor Moody's imposing figure was looming there already, his healthy eye focused on Arthur while the artificial one moved in its socket, scanning the rapidly filling rows with deep-seated suspicion.

"Frank, Arthur," he growled. "Welcome to a lousy morning." He nodded at the Defence Bench and the wizard sitting there.

Andrea Zabini was a slender man of medium height, with close-cropped dark hair and full-sleeved blue robes. Unlike Bartemius Crouch, who was talking quietly to his aide and Theobald Wolfe at the Prosecution Bench, he sat alone, but with a composure that suggested he was about to enjoy an evening out at the Magical Opera Hall rather than prepare to defend one of You-Know-Who's most infamous lieutenants.

Behind Zabini, Arthur saw the regal figure of Narcissa Malfoy, dressed in a long, tight grey robe, hair swept up in an elegant coif. Behind that composed front, she appeared almost fragile, and so pale it seemed as if she were to fall into a dead faint at any moment.

Beside her was a witch Arthur recognised - Healer Parkinson from St Mungo's. On her lap, the Mediwitch held a bundled-up baby whose white-blond tuft of hair marked it as an offspring of the Malfoy line. Arthur remembered all too well Parkinson's remark about the dangers inherent in Narcissa Malfoy having a further pregnancy, and suddenly wondered whether there was more to the woman's pallor than simply fear for her husband's fate. He wondered what kind of Dark magic Lucius Malfoy had resorted to, to have an heir after all. For Mrs Malfoy's sake, Arthur hoped that the child was a boy.

Two rows further up, he saw Minerva McGonagall seated next to a sallow-skinned, dark-haired young man who was staring ahead with an inscrutable expression.

Excited whispering resounded in the hall as the audience rows filled almost to the last seat. At long last, the Wizengamot filed in slowly and made their way over to their purple-cushioned benches. Moody gave the audience one last suspicious once-over before flopping down next to Arthur. Bartemius Crouch sat down stiffly upright on the Prosecution Bench.

Wolfe, Arthur noticed, headed for the front row of the Wizengamot, where he perched on the outermost seat like an attack dog on an invisible leash. Two of the other three front seats were filled by Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold and by a wizard who, judging from the painful green shade of his bowler, must be Cornelius Fudge. Arthur had never met Fudge in person, but knew the man had made a breath-taking move up the career ladder after his handling of the Black affair, from junior minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes to Bagnold's personal aide. Rumour had it that Fudge's entry into Magical Catastrophes had been sponsored by Lucius Malfoy's late father, which would explain why the man had interceded with the Minister on Malfoy's behalf. The third Interrogator was a formidable-looking older witch in a yellow-and-pink polka-dotted robe that did nothing to make her look even an ounce less stern.

All noise quietened when the large door at the back of the room opened and two black-hooded Dementors entered, leading Lucius Malfoy between them. His hands were manacled behind his back, his face haggard. His posture remained dignified, however, though there was no sign of the trademark arrogance. Arthur felt his hands begin to shake. The mere sight of the man was enough to throw him back to that sunny afternoon on the lawn of the Prewett residence where Mandy bled to death and David twisted in the man's grip. He could still hear that coolly amused voice forming the two words that would kill him...

 _Get a bloody grip, Arthur,_ he cursed himself. _Really, when the Hat said 'Gryffindor!' at your Sorting, it must have been scrambled._

The Dementors led Malfoy to the prisoner's chair at the centre. They removed his manacles, and he sat down without prompting, whether to preserve his pride or to prevent the creatures from touching him Arthur could only guess. Immediately, the chains sneaked around his arms and legs and fastened him securely to the chair. Nothing in Malfoy's face indicated that he had even noticed.

The Minister rose and called the hall to order with a Sonorus Charm.

"Criminal proceedings are hereby opened against Lucius Sergius Malfoy, of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire. As Interrogators have been selected Minister of Magic Millicent Magrat Bagnold, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Undersecretary of Magic, and Griselda Amaryllis Marchbanks, Legiwitch and advisor to the British Branch of the International Office of Magical Law. Theobald Wolfe of the DMLE's Administrative Office will act as court scribe. Prosecutor: Bartemius Andronicus Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Defence Wizard: Andrea Marius Zabini, Legiwizard from the International Bar of Magical Law."

The Minister pulled her notes closer to her bespectacled eyes and waved at Crouch, who rose eagerly.

"The charges brought against the accused read as follows: murder in at least one case, conspiracy to murder in at least five cases, torture and the repeated use of the Unforgivable Curses, and finally, entering into a magically binding contract and serving as a leading follower to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Crouch's eyes bore down like an eagle owl plummeting to bury its claws into some small, furry prey.

"How do you plead?"

Lucius Malfoy looked straight ahead.

"Guilty to the first four charges." His voice rang clearly through the hall, and the statement provoked an outburst of angry hisses from the audience. As they died down, he added, "Not guilty of entering into a contract with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Crouch's neck craned forward. "You admit the crimes and deny being a Death Eater?"

"To my understanding," Malfoy answered calmly, "it is impossible to enter a magically binding contract while under the influence of the Imperius Curse."

"Silence!" Crouch thundered at the renewed din of voices. "You claim to have committed these crimes under the Imperius - at whose command?"

"Under the control of Lord Voldemort." The mere mention of the name was enough to stifle any sound in the room.

Crouch's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"We have ample proof of your hatred for Muggles - membership of the Society for the Reclassification of Muggles, annual donations to the Araminta Black Foundation, defence of Muggle-baiting and opposition to Ministry policies. Your adhere to the same misguided delusions as the late Lord Voldemort!"

Malfoy's composure never faltered.

"I never made a secret of the fact that I do not consider Muggleborns an asset to wizarding society," he stated.

 _Oh, how diplomatic,_ Arthur sneered to himself.

"That is, however, a view held by a considerable number of wizarding families. It does _not_ predestine me as a Death Eater. The Malfoy family has been a pillar of British wizarding society for hundreds of years and I would not have voluntarily compromised that heritage. And neither would I have willingly submitted to the Dark Lord. I am Malfoy. We do not serve."

Crouch turned to face the Wizengamot on the upper tier.

"The Prosecution rejects this obvious ploy to absolve the accused. If the Imperius excuse was allowed to take precedent, we wouldn't be able to convict any of the Death Eaters. The accused has confessed to horrific crimes of murder and torture, so I see no reason to further take up your time. I therefore ask that the accused be sentenced to life in Azkaban prison."

A pregnant silence followed Crouch's words, interrupted after a moment by Andrea Zabini's calm voice.

"In accordance with the Defence's established right to call on witnesses, I would like to call on Healer Parkinson from the Spell Damage Unit of St Mungo's Hospital to testify on Mr Malfoy's behalf."

Minister Bagnold peered down at him owlishly, exchanged some whispered comments with her fellow Inquisitors, and then nodded. Wolfe was scowling at her furiously.

"Granted."

Zabini inclined his head to the witch next to Narcissa Malfoy, who handed the tiny baby back to its mother and made her way over to the chair Summoned for her by the Legiwizard.

"Would you please state your name and credentials?" Zabini asked.

"Moire Parkinson, Senior Healer at St Mungo's Spell Damage Ward," she said.

Wolfe suddenly looked up and fiddled with his papers.

"Resident at Baddock Place, Elegant Alley, London, with Ciaran Baddock, also St Mungo's Healer?" Wolfe inquired, eyes fixed on the files spread out before him.

Arthur felt more than heard the collective inhale of the audience, followed by barely hushed chatter.

He'd followed the scandal - how Jonathan Parkinson's young wife had left him and their two children to move in with an attractive colleague - in a gleefully exultant _Daily Prophet_. Almost everybody had, including Molly, who had been brought up by very strict parents and therefore had strong feelings about the issue of marital fidelity. Not that Arthur was complaining, of course, but having grown up among brothers and a scattering of unmarried uncles, he was harder to scandalise. And Slytherin marriages were not always made in heaven, but more often at the Galleon Exchange.

Parkinson's face was a black-and-white contrast study, dark hair clashing with deadly pallor. Zabini half-rose to make a scathing reply, but it was elderly Griselda Marchbanks who banged a small, age-spotted fist on the table in front of Wolfe's nose. He jumped.

"If such flimsy attempts at undermining the credibility of a witness are the extent of Mr Crouch's case, he might as well consider dropping his charges," the woman hissed, ignoring Wolfe completely. Two small red spots appeared over Crouch's cheekbones, but he replied coolly.

"Verifying a witness's place of residence is standard procedure, Madam Marchbanks."

"Commenting on others who might reside there is not, Mr Crouch," she countered acidly.

"Idiots!" Moody muttered into Arthur's ear. Arthur turned and gave him a questioning look. "Should have done their bloody research - the woman's an infamous femiwitch - got off those nutty bints who burned their pettirobes in the Ministry Foyer a few years back."

"The Prosecution," Crouch continued forcefully, "does not object to Healer Parkinson's choice of residence - it objects to her testimony on the grounds that she is a confidante of Mrs Lucius Malfoy."

A tiny smile played around Zabini's lips.

"Healer Parkinson has been asked to testify on the findings of a St Mungo's Research Team on Imperius because - unlike her colleagues - her schedule allows her to be present today. The Defence is prepared, however, to agree to a rescheduling of the proceedings should the Prosecution insist on another spokesperson." He shrugged and looked up at the top bench where the Wizengamot were shuffling in their seats.

Millicent Bagnold crunched up her nose. "What good would that do, if they just told us the same thing?" she croaked. "Would they, girl?" She peered down at the Healer, who nodded.

"Yes, Madam Minister. Our results have already been published in _The Mungo_ , the hospital's research periodical."

Arthur had to admit that for someone who'd just been publicly exposed as a Scarlet Woman, her voice was quite steady.

"All right, then," the ageing Minister pronounced. "You can speak, girl."

Zabini nodded at Parkinson. "You have done extensive research on Imperius?"

"Our research was funded by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in preparation for the Emergency Wizarding Protection Act, Sub-clause Nine, permitting the use of the Unforgivable Curses by Aurors."

Crouch gestured impatiently. "Said report can be looked up in the Ministry's Annual Research Papyri by any interested authorised specialist," he interjected. "It is of no relevance here."

"It specifies," Parkinson said, not looking in his direction, "that there are different varieties of the Imperius Curse. It can range from forcing the victim to perform one single act, to an unconscious compulsion that will activate at the caster's discretion - like that cast by Augustus Rookwood on a number of Ministry officials - to a deep-seated, long-term control." She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Our findings show that it becomes harder to trace and break the curse when the caster has been a particularly powerful wizard, or when the curse has been in effect for a long time. And the curse we detected on Mr Malfoy was among the strongest my team has ever been asked to investigate."

"So you're saying that you _definitely_ detected the residue of an Imperius Curse on the accused?" Cornelius Fudge spoke up for the first time.

"Beyond any doubt," Parkinson replied. Fudge pressed a knuckle against his lower lip and leaned back with a frown.

"We do not deny that the accused has been under Imperius at some point," Crouch interjected coldly. "We merely point out that it cannot be traced back to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named - it could have its origins in an obscure family tradition, or the accused could easily have asked any of his fellow conspirators for the favour - or even his wife." He looked pointedly at the slender woman in the first row of the audience, who returned the probing stare with an angry spot of colour in her cheeks.

"If there is doubt about whether Malfoy has acted voluntarily or not, why hasn't a truth potion been used?" Marchbanks inquired.

"Truth serums do not break through the Imperius Curse, Madam," Parkinson pointed out with a frown, as if the fact were a personal insult to her. "Even the newest experimental version, Veritas Serum, won't conclusively detect whether a statement under Imperius is truth, outright lie, modified memory or wishful thinking, even if it's administered in a near-lethal dose."

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur watched the lanky-haired young man next to Minerva McGonagall sneer before he leaned over to whisper something in her ear. She frowned, and nodded.

Crouch brushed off the debate in a sweeping gesture. "The fact remains that the accused bears the Dark Mark and has committed - as he has admitted himself under interrogation - the crimes specified in the charges." He paused and a tiny smile appeared on his lips. "We are, moreover, able to offer proof that he has indeed done so at his own initiative, not under the Imperius Curse. I would like to call on Mr Arthur Weasley as a witness."

Bagnold yawned and nodded, head tilted slightly as if she were contemplating a nap she was unlikely to get. Andrea Zabini rested the tip of his index finger against his bottom lip as he observed Arthur's way over to the witness chair Parkinson had vacated.

Arthur's insides lurched as he felt all eyes in the room focussed on him, and colour rose in his cheeks. He _hated_ being at the centre of attention - it made him blush, and stutter, and generally make a fool of himself. And he could not afford that - not today.

Lucius Malfoy made no move to look at Arthur, and yet to Arthur it seemed as if some kind of shadow had fallen over those expressionless features, something that hadn't been there before. Something deadly.

 _Nerves, Arthur!_ he scolded himself. _And, deadly or not, today you'll help to make sure that he'll never harm anyone else again in his life._

He sat down on the chair, back held determinedly straight.

"Arthur Weasley, resident at The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole, employed with the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office?" Wolfe glared at him.

"Yes, sir," Arthur answered softly.

Andrea Zabini interrupted with a quick gesture. "Mr Weasley, is it correct that you have been investigated by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in connection with the Rookwood affair?"

Arthur flinched at the name as if it were a whip.

"Yes - everybody recommended by Rookwood for employment at the Ministry was investigated."

"And let me add that Mr Weasley has been vindicated by Senior Auror Moody and myself, personally," Bartemius Crouch threw in. "While his record may not be spotless, his loyalty to the Ministry is above suspicion."

 _He wouldn't speak like that if he knew,_ Arthur thought bitterly.

"Mr Weasley, you were a personal friend of the Prewett family, and a guest at their wedding reception?" Crouch asked. Arthur nodded, feeling the familiar shiver that travelled through his whole being whenever that fateful day was mentioned. "And it was you who identified the accused among the Death Eaters that day?"

"Yes," Arthur repeated, trying to keep his expression as blank as Crouch's, and failing where the other man managed effortlessly.

"Would you please tell the esteemed witches and wizards of the Wizengamot what you saw?"

Arthur swallowed, tasting bitterness. _Calm!_ he told himself yet again.

"There were about twenty Death Eaters who attacked the wedding party," he recalled, voice quivering. "Five of them singled out the Prewetts directly." He paused for a moment as the scene began to replay itself in front of his inner eye. "They stunned two of the attackers, but one caught Daniel Prewett with the Cruciatus, and another cast a Dark curse on Mandy. They-" he felt a tear sliding down his cheek, and brushed it away forcibly.

"They were hurt terribly. When David - Senior Auror Prewett - tried to help them, he was ambushed from behind by the leader of the Death Eaters. I was... I tried to stun him and to disarm him, but he blocked my spells. Finally I cast Accio on his mask - I hoped he'd run to protect his anonymity. I... I recognised Lucius Malfoy. But he didn't run. He didn't care. He just broke David's spine with his spell. I saw his face while he did it. He _smiled_."

"You accuse Mr Malfoy of leading the Death Eaters, Mr Weasley?" Andrea Zabini's interruption came in a far softer tone of voice than Arthur had expected, which confused him. He bit his lip and nodded.

"When the Aurors appeared, he gave the order for retreat, and..."

"Yes, Mr Weasley?" Zabini prodded.

"And Evan Rosier died so he could get away," Arthur added shakily. "A Death Eater would do that only for one of You-Know-Who's closest allies." But Arthur, remembering the madly-elated look on Rosier's face that day, wasn't half as sure of that as he sounded. His eyes slipped to Malfoy in his chained chair, and noticed a muscle twitching on the pale cheek, the first emotional reaction the Death Eater had betrayed so far. Plainly, Arthur wasn't the only one affected by the memory.

Crouch sharply interrupted his thoughts.

"Now that we've established the accused's leading role among the Death Eaters, will you please continue, Mr Weasley?" Arthur flushed slightly at the reprimand.

"After he murdered David Prewett, he turned his wand on me," Arthur said around a heavy lump constricting his throat. Cold sweat still trickled down his neck at the memory of the hissing finality of the Killing Curse speeding towards him, and the smiling finality on the face of its caster. "He cast Avada Kevadra at me. If Auror Moody hadn't pulled me out of the way, I... I would have died." He paused before repeating, "And he _smiled_ , all the time - he enjoyed himself doing it, torturing David. The Imperius Curse might make him _do_ it, but it wouldn't make him _enjoy_ it."

Zabini gave Arthur a penetrating look, but didn't comment as Crouch nodded at Arthur.

"Thank you, Mr Weasley. You may return to your seat."

Gratefully, Arthur slid out of the witness chair and made his way back to Moody.

Crouch fixed Malfoy with the expression of a man discovering Bundimun spawn in his robe pocket. He clapped a possessive hand on the thick folder in front of him.

"It is obvious that the accused served Voldemort because it allowed him to act out his sadistic impulses against his fellow wizards and helpless Muggles," he snapped, disgust written all over his face. "And we also have proof that he used his position as You-Know-Who's lieutenant for a campaign of personal vengeance against the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, specifically against the Aurors and Hit Wizards involved in the raid on Malfoy Manor." Heads perked up all over the audience, and even among the Wizengamot.

Crouch opened the cover of the folder, took out the top sheet of paper, and placed it on the desk.

"Auror Louise McKinnon, her brother and her younger sister."

A second sheet.

"Auror Caradoc Dearborn, vanished from his cottage under the sign of the Dark Mark, while his bed-ridden father was left dead."

A third paper joined the other two.

"Hit Wizard Edgar Bones, his wife and two of his three children. And finally," Crouch leaned back, enunciating very clearly, "James Potter, hit wizard, and his wife Lily, at Godric's Hollow."

The words provoked a titter of outrage among the audience, and an incredulous but delicate snort from the Defence Bench.

"Every witch and wizard in magical Britain and beyond knows that the attack on Godric's Hollow was led by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself, and resulted in his downfall at the hands of little Harry Potter." Zabini's voice cut across the courtroom, and Arthur wondered with a sliver of anger whether You-Know-Who's demise outweighed the fact that the poor child was now an orphan, and his parents dead.

"My client has already admitted, during his interview with the Ministry, that he was ordered by You-Know-Who to... subvert the Potters' Secret Keeper," Zabini pointed out. "We know that, for whatever reason, You-Know-Who saw the Potters as a threat to his power - and rightly so, as recent events have shown. To claim that he was manoeuvred into the attack by Mr Malfoy is simply ridiculous." He paused. "All of the victims Mr Crouch has cited were Aurors and Hit Wizards, and therefore natural targets for You-Know-Who. To infer a specific initiative on Mr Malfoy's part is therefore not only a pure speculation, but a highly illogical one at that."

"There is _nothing_ speculative about the accused's _actions_ ," Crouch pointed out, voice tainted with anger. "The accused devised those attacks, led them personally apart from the last one, participated in the murders, and gloried in it."

"Under the Imperius Curse," Zabini emphasised.

"There is no _proof_ for the Imperius Curse!"

Crouch was still glaring at the Legiwizard when a nervous wizard Arthur recognised as Crouch's assistant entered through one of the side doors. A younger man, almost still a boy, slipped in behind Crouch's assistant. He hovered just inside the door, eyes sliding nervously over the room. When they fell on the Dementors flanking Malfoy, he shuddered.

As soon as Crouch noticed the pair, his face coloured. His assistant reached the Prosecution Bench and bent down to whisper something in his ear, only, from what Arthur could see, to receive a tongue-lashing for his interruption. At last Crouch rose to address the Wizengamot.

"Gentlewitches and wizards, the Prosecution has presented its case and will not require the call of further witnesses. If the Defence has no objections, I'd ask for a few minutes' break before the final pleadings."

Zabini looked up from his papers with faint curiosity, but nodded. "No objections."

"All right, then," Millicent Bagnold called down. "Fifteen minutes, Mr Crouch."

"Thank you, Madam Minister." Crouch got up quickly and walked over to the boy at the door, while both audience and Wizengamot broke out in excited whispers. The two Dementor guards drew closer to Malfoy's chair, and Arthur noted how the man's fingers dug painfully into the armrests he was chained to, even though his face betrayed no reaction.

"What's going on?" Arthur leaned over to Moody and inclined his head at Crouch, who was now engaged in a furious debate with the boy. Seeing them next to each other, a certain resemblance was evident - similar sharp features, the same slender build, though where the Head of Magical Law Enforcement exuded authority, the youth's posture reflected only angry unease.

"The boy is Barty's son, Barty Junior," Moody growled. "Hope it isn't a ploy to disrupt the trial - there's still Death Eaters at large. Stop at nothing, those." He paused and considered. "Though it's probably Barty's wife ailing again. Poor girl's been in and out of St Mungo's for years, and every time leaves her worse."

"So he'll postpone the trial then?" Arthur asked.

"You don't know him if you think that," Moody replied with a snort. "He loves her dearly, but he won't let her come between him and his duty." His magical eye moved at a disconcerting angle to peer at Crouch and his son, while the ordinary one remained focussed on Arthur. " _She_ understands it, but the boy..."

'The boy' was now being steered over to them by his father, who urged him down on the bench next to Moody. One of Crouch's hands rested heavily on his son's shoulder.

"... will see your mother this afternoon, after the trial," Arthur heard Crouch say, his free hand sweeping to indicate the court room. "We are about to remove one of the most dangerous Dark wizards of our time from the magical community. I cannot just abandon my duties now for personal reasons."

"What about your duty to mother?" the boy inquired, in a voice that oscillated between hope and anger.

"Your mother would _not_ want me to risk Malfoy's acquittal, Bartemius." The stern voice softened a little. "There is nothing I could do at St Mungo's right now."

"You could _be_ there. She's always better when you're there." It came with a distinctly bitter undertone.

Crouch straightened. "I gave you my reasons, Bartemius. Now sit down and be quiet. I will permit no further disruptions from you!" He went back to his bench.

"I'm sure your mother will be all right, boy," Moody rumbled soothingly at the tense figure of the young man, who seemed not to hear.

"And if not it'll at least make for a great anecdote about how dedicated he is to his duty, and how great a Minister of Magic he would make, right?" young Crouch snarled. "Sometimes I think he would sacrifice both me and mother if it meant being able to drag another Death Eater into that favourite hellhole of his," he added spitefully.

His father had already resumed his seat. Minister Bagnold drummed her fingers on the railing and Crouch inclined his head in response.

"Are we ready to continue?" she called down waspishly.

"Yes, Madam Minister," Crouch replied.

"Good! I'll ask for the concluding statements then. Mr Crouch?"

Crouch rose, his robes falling in sharp creases around his body. He looked quite intimidating, Arthur thought. The audience quietened under his daunting presence.

Barty Crouch Junior stood up. Moody put a hand on his arm, but he shook it off and walked to the main exit in the hushed silence. The click with which the double doors closed behind him had an eerie ring of finality. Arthur shivered. He caught the hooded, thoughtful look with which Malfoy followed the boy's exit, and shivered again.

For a moment sheer fury contorted Crouch's expression as he stared after his son, then he tore his gaze away from the door and addressed the Wizengamot.

"Despite the Defence's attempts at convincing us, we have heard no conclusive proof that the accused was put under Imperius by You-Know-Who, or that he was ever _forced_ to commit his atrocities. On the contrary, we have heard from a reliable witness how much he enjoyed murdering his victims." Crouch's eyes swept up to focus on the packed rows occupied by the Wizengamot. "Gentlewitches and wizards, if this man is freed on a flimsy excuse, you would release a deadly menace back into the magical community, someone who has proven his contempt for the lives of his fellow wizards, and who will stop at nothing to use all his influence and wealth to bring back his vile master and prepare for a second reign of terror over the wizarding world!"

Arthur felt a shiver running down his back. The almost palpable sense of dread in the hall suggested that the wizards and witches in the audience felt the same. Arthur glanced at the Defence Bench. Andrea Zabini looked vaguely thoughtful, and Arthur thought he could see Malfoy's mouth twist for a moment, whether in contempt, anger, or cynical humour.

Zabini's pensive expression did not change as he rose and put slender fingers on his wand on the table, as if the wood would imbue him with energy, or inspiration.

"As the recent trial of Mr Ludovic Bagman has showed," he stated, "Mr Crouch is single-minded in his determination to rid the magical community of Dark wizards, even if he overshoots the mark occasionally. Not even he, however, is able to deny that Mr Malfoy has been under the Imperius Curse. And we know from the Rookwood affair that the Dark Lord and his minions indeed made frequent use of that Unforgivable. The heir of one of the most distinguished wizarding families was a perfect target for their designs." He paused for a moment - to let his words sink in, Arthur thought angrily.

"As for Mr Malfoy's alleged intentions to revenge himself on the Aurors responsible for the incarceration of his wife-" the Legiwizard inclined his head towards Narcissa Malfoy, whose unwavering eyes were fixed on him while her thin hands clutched at the blankets that swaddled her infant, "-he would have had far more reason to launch an attack on senior Auror Moody or Mr Wolfe, or, if they proved too well-protected, on Mr Weasley, who exposed him."

Zabini's gaze came to rest on Arthur directly, and he fidgeted nervously.

"Mr Weasley, I understand the terrible pressure you have been under, and please accept my condolences for the loss of our friends." He turned to look at the Wizengamot. "But the testimony of a single witness, in a situation of supreme agitation and emotional uproar, and without any familiarity with the workings of the Imperius Curse, is not sufficient to condemn a man to a fate worse than death in Azkaban." The Legiwizard set both palms on the table and leaned forwards slightly.

"What speaks in Mr Malfoy's favour most of all, however, is that he gave himself up to the Ministry _voluntarily_ , immediately after You-Know-Who's hold over him had broken, to face the judgement of the wizarding world. I believe that nothing demonstrates more clearly than this Mr Malfoy's good faith and his regret for having been so used against his fellow wizards."

 _Like hell!_ Arthur thought angrily. _He just wants to hang on to his fortune, and is a lot more brazen about it than any of the others._

Millicent Bagnold stared ahead, rubbing the back of her nose absent-mindedly, until the audience began to shuffle and Fudge lightly patted her arm. She hemmed.

"Ah, yes, thank you, Mr Crouch, Mr Zabini. Does Mr... the accused wish to add a final statement?"

Crouch gave Malfoy a venomous glare, while Bagnold anchored her look somewhere above his shoulder. Malfoy, whose eyes had been lowered during both statements, looked up, and the two Dementors leaned in closer so that their tattered coverings almost touched his bound arms. For the first time, strain showed in the pinched expression of his face.

"Thank you Madam Minister." He inclined his head to Bagnold. "But I won't defend myself. Even if the guardians of the wizarding world decide to acquit me today, I don't think I'll ever be able to forget what the Dark Lord forced me to do - or forgive myself for it." His lips thinned. "I am Malfoy - I should have been able to resist him."

On the front bench of the audience, Narcissa Malfoy gave a quiet, strangled sob and hid her face against the white-blond tufts on her child's head. It was a picture of perfect grief, or, Arthur couldn't help thinking, of perfect artifice. Moody's soft snort showed him that the Auror's thoughts were moving in the same direction.

Malfoy glanced at his distraught wife, then tore his eyes away with visible - or intentional - effort.

"I do not care what happens to me," Malfoy added with a tremor in his voice that made Arthur want to jump up and yell 'Can't you _see_ he's trying to manipulate you!'.

"But the Dark Lord not only controlled _me_ , he also forced me to cast the Imperius Curse on my closest friends - wizards I grew up with, went to school with. They are not responsible for the crimes I forced them to commit. If anyone should take responsibility," he emphasised, eyes firmly fixed on the Wizengamot, "it should be me."

"Bloody arrogant fraud!" Arthur heard Moody growl viciously. The old Auror gripped his wand so tightly that Arthur was afraid it might snap. "The nerve of him, trying to sell us the martyr act!"

Again, Cornelius Fudge patted the Minister's arm. She came out of what looked like a half-doze, and frowned at the hall. Behind her, the members of the Wizengamot whispered among themselves. Arthur saw the tall pointed hat of Albus Dumbledore stand out among them as Hogwarts' headmaster conversed with an angry-looking witch and a bald, elderly wizard with a pince-nez seated next to him.

"Well then." When it became clear that Fudge was determined not to let her slip off into yet another nap, Bagnold called the room to order. "We have heard all the witnesses and statements. Those in favour of sentencing the accused Lucius Sergius Malfoy to life in Azkaban - please raise your hands now."

Arthur saw hands go up all over the top tiers - though not, as he had expected, a clear majority. He noticed that quite a few hands hesitated, and then rose when Albus Dumbledore signalled his agreement. Lucius Malfoy's cold eyes were fixed on the top benches, and Arthur could imagine him filing away the identities of his enemies for further use.

"Hold it," the Minister called, clearly irritated that the result wasn't immediately obvious. Griselda Marchbanks rose, and a bright orange thread of light coiled itself into numbers at the tip of her wand as she counted the raised hands. At last, the glowing numbers came to a standstill at seventeen.

Mad-Eye Moody cursed under his breath. "That's not even half! Let's just hope that not enough of them have the nerve to actually acquit that piece of filth!"

"All right," Bagnold called over the renewed din of voices. "Those in favour of acquittal?"

Arthur frowned when he noticed that all three Inquisitors - Bagnold, and then both Marchbanks and Fudge - raised their hands. He wondered whether Bagnold would have voted differently if her two rivals Crouch and Dumbledore had not been avowed opponents of Malfoy.

The flashing of numbers atop Marchbanks' wand began to scroll again. When it settled, Arthur could only stare at it in disbelief, barely registering Moody's moan of horror.

Nineteen.

"The court dismisses the case against Lucius Sergius Malfoy with nineteen against seventeen votes, counting fourteen abstentions." Bagnold concluded with a satisfied look down at Crouch. "His wand is to be returned to him forthwith."

"Impossible," Arthur whispered in a strangled voice he found hard to recognise. Dread coursed through his bloodstream. He couldn't, just _couldn't_ believe that the most highly esteemed body of wizards had just brushed off the Prewetts' deaths like that. Moody grabbed his arm with bruising force, and the Auror's artificial eye rotated wildly in its socket.

"Should have known!" Moody snarled. "Too many cowardly idiots, and he has dozens of them in his pocket, I'm sure. A travesty, that's what it is!"

Tears pricked Arthur's lids, and he struggled against them, glad for a moment's distraction from the acute feeling of defeat. He would _not_ blubber in public, on top of everything!

His slightly blurred gaze fell on Minerva McGonagall, who had her hands balled into fists in her lap and looked hardly less shocked and furious than Moody. The eyes of the dark young man next to her rested on Lucius Malfoy, whose restraints were now being unspelled by a court assistant. Minerva's companion was not smiling, but if Arthur weren't certain that none of Hogwarts' staff would ever approve of the release of a Death Eater, he'd almost have thought those unfriendly black eyes were shining with relief.

Narcissa Malfoy still perched on her seat, her face buried against the shoulder of the baby, and Arthur suddenly wondered if the sobs that shook her frame really came from relief at having her husband returned to her, or weren't rather an expression of dread for being returned into the clutches of a Dark wizard. He wondered what that frail child would turn into in the hands of that monster. They did not deserve it, he thought with a surge of angry protectiveness. Neither one of them.

Bartemius Crouch left the Hall, exchanging only the curtest of words and nods with the members of the Wizengamot who had come down to express their sympathy and outrage. Arthur rose to follow when Malfoy stepped free from the prisoner's chair and met his eyes across the courtroom. Malfoy's expression was dispassionate, but Arthur could read it clearly enough.

 _You shouldn't have tried to destroy me,_ it said. _But most of all, you should not have failed_.

Perhaps Malfoy saw the comprehension dawn on Arthur's face, because he inclined his head and one corner of his mouth twisted. Arthur turned on his heel and walked out, unable to face Malfoy's triumphant smile.

In the corridor outside the courtroom, Moody had caught up with Crouch and laid a heavy hand on his arm.

"It's not your fault, Barty," Moody said quietly. "If Bagnold had supported you..."

"Damn that woman and her paranoia!" Crouch hissed under his breath, with more venom than Arthur had ever seen him express, and he had certainly seen him raging before. "We should have had Malfoy and all his damnable associates Kissed in Azkaban, and to hell with a trial!"

Arthur hung two steps behind. Crouch did not need another one telling him how sorry he was, and he was probably intent on seeing his ill wife. He nodded his good-byes to Moody's rotating eye, and left.

He made his way up the staircase, and decided he felt too tired to walk up the remaining nine floors. As he turned towards the lifts, he found himself eye-to-eye with Healer Moire Parkinson. Hot rage surged through his veins as he stared at her.

"How could you lie for him like that?" he snapped, before the words had time to actually register in his brain.

She glared back at him, bristling like a wet Kneazle. "How dare you call me a liar, Weasley!"

Arthur shook his head. "Do you really think that helping to free that sadistic killer is a fitting revenge for Narcissa Malfoy's loss?"

Her hands curled into fists. Arthur had seen her temper flare before, and realised he was lucky she hadn't gone for her wand instead.

"You know _nothing_ about me!" she spat, and stalked off towards the staircase, lifts forgotten.

Arthur stared after her in confusion and rage.

~ * * * ~ 

"So, do you expect congratulations?" Arthur inquired harshly, when his mind had returned from vivid memory to present adversity. "For getting Zabini and Parkinson to lie for you in court? For your talent at play-acting?"

Malfoy just eyed him darkly.

"It _was_ a supremely stupid move, calling Parkinson a liar in public," he commented. "In keeping with your usual level of Gryffindor stupidity, of course, but you seem to be singularly effective in damaging your career opportunities. Crouch, Parkinson and Baddock, house Malfoy..." He grinned sardonically. "And you wonder how you ended up being overlooked for every promotion and stuck in a position that would make the Centaur Liaison Office shine in comparison?"

"Was it worth it?" he asked, making a sweeping gesture that included, but was not limited to, Arthur's prison. "Was a clear conscience and a pat on the head from the great Albus Dumbledore worth ending up here?" The aristocratic mouth curled in contempt. "But I forgot that Dumbledore's favour has never yet involved any kind of practical support."

Arthur's head snapped up in rage. "That's not-"

"It's the plain truth," Malfoy said coldly. "That's why you're dirt poor, why that oaf Hagrid can be dragged off to Azkaban at anybody's whim, and why that little bastard Potter can't wait to exchange his relatives for your hovel every summer."

"And what has crawling before You-Know-Who ever brought _you_ , except the opportunity to participate in the occasional massacre and to be hauled off to Azkaban when things go wrong?" Arthur shot back, inwardly cursing his own reckless stupidity but unwilling to let the Death Eater get away with badmouthing Dumbledore. He saw the angry pinch in Malfoy's sharp face, but couldn't stop himself.

"So aren't you going to tell me how you strung Parkinson and Zabini along? Did you fake the Imperius, or did you just beg them to lie outright for your wife's sake?"

Malfoy flushed, and Arthur hadn't seen him so angry since the day he'd punched the bastard in the face at Flourish & Blotts. Arthur knew he'd gone too far, and the lingering ache of the Cruciatus sang through his bones in remembrance. He flinched as Malfoy raised his wand.

"Why don't I just _show_ you?" he snarled. " _Imperio!_ "

For one brief moment all Arthur could feel was a shocked, irrational sense of betrayal. Then the insidious _pull_ took over, and the sting was just smoothed away, dissolving into bubbles of happiness and soothing mental caresses.

*You will do anything for me, won't you?* the Voice asked in his head, and - sharp, contemptuous and laced with anger as it was - Arthur had never felt a more siren-sweet compulsion. He would - oh, of course he would!

*Say it!*

"Yes, I will do any-" he started, and _shuddered_ , body and mind alike, at the wrongness of it. There had been no room at all to crawl away from Voldemort's compulsion, but this... wrong, just wrong. He had no _right_ to do this!

Arthur bit down, tasted liquid iron blossoming on his tongue, and tried to squirm away from the Curse like one of Ginny's kittens trying to flatten itself out from under his petting hand. But it was so _hard_ , and he so wanted to lie there basking under the benign fingers.

*Say that you serve me!* the Voice insisted, and Arthur protested "I do!", which was at least not complete compliance.

*Prove it!* the Voice wheedled. *Potter's Muggle kin - where do they live? You _want_ to tell me, don't you?*

 _Oh nonono,_ Arthur's mind protested, oh so very sluggishly.

*I know you know, Arthur, you went there last summer, didn't you? So tell me!*

"Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."

*Very nice.*

 _Did I just tell him that,_ Arthur wondered, but then understood that there was no one more to be trusted with that information, and that there was nothing, nothing at all, to worry about.

*So - now that we've become friends,* the Voice sidled closer, *I'm sure you want to do something else to help me, don't you?*

Arthur nodded happily, feeling a ring of pressure tightening around his chest as if he were a trembling mouse in the embrace of Devil's Snare.

"Yes," he assured the Voice.

*You will help me against my enemies, then?*

Again, Arthur nodded, outraged that such a kind Voice should have any enemies at all. It was just not right!

*Your own family, Arthur. They wronged me terribly,* the Voice elucidated, setting Arthur's heart aflutter with irrational panic. *I think they should be punished. Would you take care of that?*

"Y-" Arthur broke off with a groan, part of him flailing wildly against the terrible compulsion. He nodded, but didn't speak again.

" _Imperio!_ "

The warmth washed over him once more, this time liquefying the last icicles of resistance.

*Will you destroy them for me - your fussy wife, all those boorish sons, that interfering little daughter?*

For some reason Arthur was shuddering like a leaf, but this time his "Yes." rang clear. He embraced the Voice's sardonic approval, and slumped back on his cot, hands limply at his sides. Gloved fingers tilted up Arthur's chin and eyes studied his face while the Voice studied his mind.

*If I hand you a Portkey now, and send you off to that hovel of yours, will you crush the life out of them - all of them - for my sake?*

"Yes."

*Say it, Arthur.*

Something inside him howled like a lost soul under the jaws of a werewolf. It did not weaken the curse. It just made the impact infinitely more terrible.

"I will go and - and crush the - _them_ for you," he swore mechanically, staring right through that inquisitive face before him.

*And now tell me why,* the Voice commanded, almost gently now.

This, finally, was simple, and rolled from Arthur's tongue without the pangs that had made his earlier words agony.

"Because you're my Master."

"Oh, very, very good, Arthur," the Voice praised, syrupy-smug enough to make even Dumbledore sick. " _Finite Incantatem_!"

The veil of comfortable obedience was yanked off, and Arthur jolted to his feet, trembling. He stared at Malfoy's coolly entertained expression, insides churning with an icy, bitter rage.

"Don't you _ever_ dare to do that to me again!"

Malfoy's mouth curled up with his usual punchworthy smugness.

"Aren't you forgetting your place?" he drawled. "And here I thought you'd finally acknowledged your position."

"You had _no_ right to do that," Arthur yelled, red with anger. "I let you cast the fucking Cruciatus on me because you swore that would _do_!" He hurled the profanity he'd berate his children for with vicious satisfaction.

"And you put your trust into the word of a Death Eater?" Malfoy shook his head. "And they wonder why we use 'Gryffindor' as an invective."

Arthur stifled a gasp as he realised that he'd done exactly that. He wouldn't believe for a split second that Malfoy had so much as a shred of honour, but he really hadn't expected him to lie, not when he held all the cards.

"And of course, I gave you that choice _yesterday_ ," Malfoy added. "I was quite interested to see what you would choose _today_ , after you've had the time to... savour... the consequences of your decision."

 _He couldn't!_ Arthur thought, feeling as if his insides were shrivelling up. Nobody could be expected to bring that agony upon himself _twice_ , knowing... But then this was a man who had cheerfully forced him to volunteer to wipe out his own family - believing him incapable of any kind of atrocity would indeed mark Arthur as the kind of naive fool Malfoy had accused him of being.

He lowered his eyes in despair, which Malfoy obviously took for an answer.

"Yes, I think you'd be well-advised to tread carefully, because I'm sure I could come up with one or two stray Muggles for you to dismember if you were unwilling to face Cruciatus again." He frowned. "And you _did_ ask about Imperius, didn't you? So don't dare to label me dishonourable for showing you what you wanted to know."

"I did not-" Arthur protested, and fell silent, eyes wide. "Are you saying that... that... You-Know-Who really...?"

He broke off, and just stared. It couldn't be - not he! Not _Malfoy_.

"Am I to conclude that strokes of insight so rarely come to you that they disable your capacity for speech when it happens?" Malfoy sneered. "But no, you needn't set about re-examining your hard-won prejudices just yet. The Dark Lord did not need Imperius to force me into killing Mudbloods and Muggles. He did not need it to make me lead the attack on the Prewetts, and-" he stared at Arthur in malicious satisfaction, "he did not need it to persuade me to squash David Prewett like the arrogant, Gryffindor Ministry-lackey he was. No, Arthur - I did that because I enjoyed it."

"So what did he need it for, then?" Arthur asked quietly, although he already felt the answer quivering under his fingertips.

Malfoy's face contorted in an expression that made Arthur want to flinch, but deep down he didn't think a curse would be coming. Not yet.

"Think, Arthur," Malfoy sneered. "I would support the Dark Lord, fight his battles, kill his enemies, but I would not bear his Mark. Because I'm Malfoy."

"You do not serve," Arthur finished softly, quoting back the man's words from his trial.

Malfoy straightened, throwing aloofness over his face like a shielding cloak.

"Have you learned what you wanted to know?" he asked.

"I don't know," Arthur replied honestly, realising that whatever insights he had won today, they would not help him in the end. Not to escape. Not to survive.

"You still have a week, Arthur," Malfoy said evenly. "A week until All Hallow's Eve, when your son will throw your beloved Harry Potter at my Lord's feet because he thinks it will save your life."

Arthur schooled his face into rigid calm. Receiving a death sentence like that was nearly enough to make his heart stand still, but he would _not_ let Malfoy see him tremble.

The Death Eater waved his wand to disable the wards on the door, and paused in the doorway one last time to look back over his shoulder.

"I will be busy with the preparations for the grand event, but I think I'll have to pay you one last visit, Arthur." He smiled, with an unguarded malice that told Arthur - more eloquently than any amount of words or threats could have - that he would not be allowed to die before he had paid the full price for seeing behind Lucius Malfoy's iron fade.

Malfoy's eyebrow rose when he saw realisation dawn on Arthur's face.

"Because you still owe me some answers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I filched a name from Minerva McTabby's Two Worlds and In-Between, just because it's the best Harry Potter fic on Merlin's green earth :). And I respectfully acknowledge borrowing an idea from Narcissa Malfoy's wonderful But Minister, You're Married!Two more names have been borrowed from William Shakespeare and Terry Pratchett respectively. Also, I've twisted a memorable phrase from Steven Saylor's _The Venus Throw_.


	7. (... draft)

After his spectacular exit, Lucius Malfoy did not reappear again for a long time. Not that Arthur really _wanted_ to see him – he would have been quite satisfied, in principle, never to see Malfoy's face again in his life. But it also meant that he had no idea whatsoever about what was going on outside. He wasn't sure whether having Malfoy here to gloat over the progress of his evil scheme would be preferable to not knowing, but the things he imagined were perhaps far worse than reality.

Then again, perhaps not.

Arthur consciously pondered about Ron, for the first time in quite a while. He had felt a niggling worry about his youngest son ever since he'd chosen Harry Potter for his best friend, and the feeling had grown worse ever since You-Know-Who's return. What alarmed him most, however, was that he could not predict what Ron might do. He had never had the same intense relationship with his two youngest children as he'd had with the others – except for Percy, who had always been closer to Molly, just like Ginny as their youngest and only daughter. Fred and George had always been close to him, but they had each other, and Arthur had never quite felt the need to intrude on them too much – they were so self-contained together, and Molly's extra eye on them as the family pranksters was already enough attention to make them thoroughly uncomfortable.

Now that Arthur actively thought about it with nothing to distract him, he realised how little he really knew about his youngest son. Not quite studious enough to satisfy his mother, Ron's mind would seem nothing to write home about compared to the rest of his siblings, if it weren't for his unexpected brilliance at wizard's chess. Arthur had taught him the game at about seven, as he had with all his children, and had ceased to be a challenge for seven-year old Ron after their fourth game. Ron had gone on to beat Percy, and then Bill, in the course of a week, and had hardly ever lost a game since, even against an adult opponent. It wasn't that he loved to play all that much, or had ambitions as to becoming a wizard's chess prodigy as Molly had hoped for a while until Ron had discovered his overriding, and lasting, passion for Quidditch. It was just that _if_ he played, nobody could beat him. But he'd never shown a sign of attributing that stunning gift for strategy to _life_.

Embarrassing as it was, Arthur found it easier to get a grasp at Harry, who had become almost a seventh son for him and Molly. Harry's sad excuses for relatives certainly did not constitute anything remotely worth being called 'family'. Arthur was almost certain that young Harry would never allow himself to be blackmailed like this, no matter what threat to his personal happiness. But while Arthur hoped Ron would not let himself be used for the heart-wrenching act of betrayal Malfoy and his vile Master had designed for him, he wasn't sure about it.

Arthur knew beyond any shadow of doubt that his own life was worth infinitely less than Harry's. Not just because the boy had so many more years in front of him, but also because he had defeated the inhuman monster that had been resurrected to haunt the wizarding world once more. Although Arthur was not quite sure if his own son would see it in the same way. If roles were reversed – if it were his _son_ in the clutches of You-Know-Who and his cronies – he would have felt much differently himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. I'm sorry. This was my first Harry Potter fanfic ever, written between September 2002 and May 2004, and unfinished. I threw in the bit of draft for Chapter 7 because it's not going to finish ever (outpaced by canon a long time ago). Apologies!

**Author's Note:**

> Written between September 2002 and May 2004. Unfinished.


End file.
